


i once believed love would be (black and white)

by 26stars, lazyfish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Background Lance Hunter/Alphonso Mackenzie, Classic Hollywood Era, F/F, Golden Age Hollywood, Mostly disregarding period-typical racism and homophobia, Newcomer Bobbi Morse, References to Past Assault, References to War Injuries, References to infidelity (Grant Ward's), Superstar Melinda May, post-WWII era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish
Summary: But it's golden, like daylight...Melinda May is an established star of the silver screen trying to bounce back from a scandal. Bobbi Morse is a new-to-Hollywood actress set to appear beside her in a new picture. At first, they seem to have little in common beyond a trailer on set and an assistant infatuated with the other's. As time goes on, however, they discover that the have common ground in the most important places - they just have to be brave enough to stand there together.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson, Melinda May/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 58
Kudos: 38
Collections: Women of the MCU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Collaboration between 26stars and lazyfish with authors alternating chapters.

**Los Angeles Examiner—April 2, 1948**

**Louella Parsons:** _Where, oh where has Melinda May gone? It’s been four quiet months since the premiere of_ The Bridge _and that uncouth display on the red carpet that had heads turning all over Hollywood, and still there has been no sign of the former darling of the silver screen. Though her co-star and rumored ex-beau Grant Ward has hardly been keeping a low profile, seen out and about in New York with fiancée Kara Palamas several times in the past month, there has been no word from the studio or the star’s agent of her future plans. We’ve endured the disappearance of this actress before, but her former hiatus was for a noble reason. Nothing about this situation feels like the brave actress we once applauded off to the WASP ranks to assist in the war effort. Melinda May, if you’re out there, please give us some sign you haven’t forgotten your first love: Hollywood!_

* * *

The air on the ground in San José was a balmy seventy-three degrees this afternoon, but up here, thousands of feet above the Santa Clara Valley, everything is crisp and cool. Melinda’s hand is firm on the stick as she steers the small silver craft through dips and banks, exploring the one area of this part of California that hasn’t become too crowded for her liking. Gusts that manage to sneak around the windscreen pluck strands of her hair out from beneath her cap and cause the lapels of her fleece-lined jacket to flap like birdwings. From nine thousand feet, she can see all the way to the coast, and the daydream of just turning the plane west and flying away from everything beneath her resurfaces the way it always does every time she glimpses the edge of her world.

But even with only one passenger, a Stearman’s fuel capacity isn’t enough for a trans-Pacific flight—over land, it probably couldn’t even get her to Kansas—and Melinda has to bring the plane back into a descent eventually. She lands on the private grass strip that is part of her property, a few dozen acres with an unassuming ranch-style house and a barn that serves as a hangar for her little plane. The unpretentious, ungated property does a fair job of keeping her presence in this little town a secret, one she maintains by having her assistant, Daisy, take care of most of the weekly grocery shopping and letting her agent bring up her mail from Hollywood whenever he visits. The newspapers haven’t sniffed this place out yet, and Melinda intends to keep it that way for as long as possible.

By the time Melinda has taxied the plane off its little airstrip and into the barn, the red convertible that she had seen kicking up a trail of dust on the road towards her home is now parking on the front drive. She still takes her time getting out of the plane and getting the craft stowed—there’s no danger of this particular visitor leaving before he has a word with her.

Phil is seated on the back porch swing when she finally emerges from the barn, his tie still done up to his chin even while he fans himself with his hat.

“Good flight?” he asks as Melinda tramps up in her boots, airman’s slacks, and a white button-down, her flight jacket swung over her shoulder. She can only imagine what her hair looks like.

“Quiet and alone, just like it should be,” she says, stepping up onto the porch and reaching for the screen door. “Come on in.”

Inside her airy kitchen, Melinda fills a kettle and fires up a stove burner, then opens the fridge looking for something for him.

“If you’re wanting something cold to drink, I only have beer or milk—either one sound good?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Phil responds, hanging his hat and jacket from the hook on the wall before sitting down. The familiar, bulging sack of mail he sets on the floor near the door, but he also has a thin briefcase with him today, which he keeps tucked beside his chair.

Documents to discuss usually means good news or bad news, so Melinda stalls further.

“What’s the mood in the Hills these days?”

“Nothing special. Business as usual. Lots of people asking where you are.”

She has no doubt that he’s kept his mouth shut, the only thing she’d told him to do since her last premiere, but she also knows this won't be the end of that talk.

“How’s Roz?”

“Just fine, thanks. She asked me to say hello for her.”

“Hello,” Melinda responds, pulling down two cups from a cupboard. “Milk or sugar?”

“Some of each please,” Phil says, leaning back in his chair. He’s known her long enough to know that she won’t be sitting down until she’s good and ready.

While waiting for the kettle, Melinda fetches the mail bag from the door and drags it into the middle of the sitting room.

“Want to put money on what percentage of these are slut-shaming, pearl-clutching diatribes?” she jokes, tipping it over until the assortment of letters spill unceremoniously onto the floor.

“I’d never put money on anything that would require you to actually read all of your fan mail,” Phil says, unbuttoning the shirt cuff on his left wrist and rolling his sleeve up a little. Without needing to be asked, Melinda comes over and takes care of the cuff around his right hand to roll up the other sleeve—his wife can take care of it at home, but around here, she’s happy to step in.

“Thanks,” Phil says, just as the kettle starts to whistle.

Melinda brings their tea to the table, along with the sugar bowl and two spoons.

“How much milk?” she asks, bringing the large bottle over from the fridge without bothering to pour it into a creamer.

“Just a splash,” he answers as he stirs a spoonful of sugar in, and she takes care of pouring the milk into his cup with an expert dip of her wrist.

Finally, finally she takes a seat across from him, looks pointedly at his briefcase, and raises a brow.

“So what’s the latest damage?”

He takes two silent sips of tea before setting the cup on its saucer and reaching for his briefcase.

“Two big things today,” he says as he pulls the case onto his lap, popping the latch with his thumb and lifting the lid with his shortened left arm. “Do you want good news or good news first?”

The perplexed look she gives him causes him to smile. “I told you it would blow over eventually, Mel,” he says with a smile. “No scandal lives forever.”

“Has the studio stopped calling for my apology yet?” she asks first, watching as he lays a few documents on the table.

“They certainly haven’t been calling _me_ for that,” he says, sliding a paper-clipped stack of papers over. “I’m here today because I met with a director last week—and he had a script he wanted you to see.”

Intrigued, Melinda turns the document around until she can see the title and names on the cover page.

_The Magical Place, written by Leopold Fitz_

“Director: Alphonso Mackenzie,” Melinda reads. “Who’s he?”

“You’ve heard of him,” Phil says as he closes the case and sets it back on the floor. “He was working on the lot next to yours doing _Girl in a Flower Dress_ while you were doing your last one _._ ”

“Which I hear did rather well,” Melinda says, pulling over the other document laid out in front of Phil. It’s the numbers from the box office haul of her latest film—the most any film she’s done has ever grossed.

“Nothing like a scandal to bring in the crowds,” she grumbles, pushing that paper back at him. “Is that why the studio’s begging new directors to pick me up for another film?”

“Mackenzie asked for you,” Phil tells her with a pointed look. “He said he read the script and could only picture you with the leading lady role.”

“Who’s in talks for the male lead?” Melinda asks, flipping the script open to the role list.

“Last I heard, he was pushing for the new guy—Lance Hunter. Remember the British one who just moved to Hollywood last fall? Mackenzie thinks it would be a recognizable enough name for second billing, no one would worry about his name detracting from yours on the marquee.”

“And there’s another large female part?” Melinda prompts, scanning through the brief character descriptions on the first and second pages. “Anyone in talks for her?”

Female co-leads can be as tricky as male leads these days, as far as she’s concerned. After the story that’s followed her this year, she wouldn’t be surprised if most other actresses are keeping their distance for the foreseeable future, afraid to be “scandalous by association”.

“He also wants to cast someone new. To hear him talk, that’s his main priority after casting you.”

Melinda takes a couple of minutes to read through the summary and the first few pages of the script. It’s an interesting premise, and her intended character in the first few scenes reads well on paper. But even talking hypothetically about doing another film still feels like a farce when the elephant in the industry is still at large.

“So my penance for sleeping with a co-star and then punching him on the red carpet is doing a new film with a green cast and crew?” she asks, testing the waters to see how much Phil already knows.

“They don’t care that you slept with him; they care that, in their minds, you slandered him and their company.”

Melinda’s heartbeat picks up and her eyes flash as she looks up at Phil. “I told the papers nothing but the truth—”

“I believe you, Melinda,” Phil cuts her off in a soft voice. “I’ve known you long enough to know you don’t do anything without good reason. The papers have tried to use the ‘scorned lover’ trope on you, but I believe you when you say it was never about that.”

“Never _just_ about that.”

Finding out on the red carpet that Grant Ward was engaged (to a girl he was also with while they were sleeping together) was disgusting but hardly surprising, hardly worth making a scene about. If Daisy had just told Melinda everything else sooner, she would have broken his jaw during shooting, scrapped the film, and taken her dignity and Daisy with her to a better project with better people. But when the confession came only after re-shoots wrapped, only after the cast and crew had parted ways for over a month and Daisy abruptly broke down in the car when they were leaving city limits…well, it was hardly Melinda’s fault that the next time she and Ward crossed paths was on the red carpet.

“And anyway, Mel,” Phil goes on, bringing her back to the present, “this project isn’t the studio punishing you—punishing you would be cancelling your contract and continuing to pretend you don’t exist, like they have been since the premiere. Mackenzie reached out to me first, but I didn’t want to talk to you until he’d cleared casting you with the studio. Just because they tend to take men’s words over women’s doesn’t mean no one in our business believes what you’ve said.”

Melinda exhales slowly, leaning back in her chair and tapping the toe of her boot against the table leg. These past few months, away from Hollywood and all that goes with it, have felt a little like being on death row—waiting for an announcement that she’d believed was imminent, one that would be the final nail in her career’s coffin. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t almost been hoping for it, if only to get it over with and move on with her life.

But this—another film, another chance, another line to add beneath her name to start blurring out her most recent headline…this feels like the possibility she hadn’t dared hope for. She’d forgotten what it felt like to want something like this.

And yet, the idea of going back to work for a studio that let something like that happen in the first place, who fed her to the wolves for telling the world about it and then took the monster’s side over hers…

“You know what I hope you’ll do,” Phil says, pulling the script back towards himself and stacking it neatly on top of the box office figures. “So if there’s anything I want you to hear today it’s this: you deserve to leave this business when you’re ready, on your terms. This mess, all this shit from last year…I know you don’t care how people remember you, but I do. You deserve better than that story being the last reason anyone says your name. You’re far too remarkable for that.”

Melinda is surprised to feel tears pricking at her eyes, and she glares towards a corner of the room. He puts his hand on the script instead of reaching for hers.

“Top billing. A leading role to be proud of. No other big names to steal your thunder, and no one on the crew who likes Grant Ward even a little bit.”

The final persuasion almost makes Melinda chuckle, and she finally looks back towards Phil, quickly smearing the tears from her eyes.

“This director really wants me that badly, huh? He’s even more masochistic than you then.”

Phil shakes his head with a tired smile. “Melinda, you are the grouchiest, stubbornest, most exasperating woman I have ever met in my life, but you are also one of the most incredible. I promise you, I would not still be working with you if I didn’t think you were worth the trouble.”

Melinda smiles, but not wide enough that he might know how much his words actually mean to her. Propping her chin on her hand, she sighs at the battle already lost.

“When does he want to begin?”

* * *

**Los Angeles Examiner—July 12, 1948**

**Louella Parsons:** _Melinda May is back in business! Sources within the studio confirm that she has signed on for a new film to be directed by studio’s latest favorite director, Alphonso Mackenzie, his fourth movie in two years with Paramount. The rest of the cast is not yet announced, but rumor has it that newcomers and unknowns are being considered for the other two lead roles. Perhaps no old hands are still willing to work with the recovering starlet, perhaps this is a studio decision to offer Ms. May her spotlight with a fresh start. Time will tell if this is a wise move for anyone on board._


	2. Chapter 2

It's rare Bobbi Morse ever feels overwhelmed, but today might just be the most overwhelming experience of her life.

Scratch that – it’s definitely the most overwhelming experience of her life.

This is her big break – Holden’s told her enough times for the words to be seared onto the backs of her eyelids. Her big break, her first _real_ Hollywood movie, and she’s starring alongside the biggest starlet the city has to offer. Or at least, she was the biggest starlet the city had to offer. Some would debate that anymore, but it’s a debate Bobbi’s happy to have. Holden, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t be pleased for her to be making enemies on her first day on set.

A page leads her into a room that’s far too big and billowy for Bobbi’s taste. She’s supposed to see her trailer today, too, after they finish the table read and some wardrobe measurements. Bobbi bites her lip and tries not to think about wardrobe. She’s certain the costumer will have something to say about her long legs. People always have an opinion about her height, her weight, her smile, her laugh. It’s rather exhausting.

But it’s what she signed up for.

Bobbi slides into the seat behind her name card, where a copy of the script is waiting for her. A perfectly-sharpened pencil sits just to her right, but Bobbi surreptitiously switches it to the left. She’s on the end so her left-handedness shouldn’t be too much of a bother, as much as her mother would loathe her to show that particular character quirk in public. Of all the things her agent seemed not to like about her, at least Holden Radcliffe had no problems with her left-handedness.

Bobbi begins looking through the script, only pausing to glance up when she hears more footsteps coming down the hall. It’s not Melinda May, though – it’s Lance Hunter. He’s a newcomer, just like Bobbi, but he has the advantage of being British. And a man. Bobbi has no doubt this will be the beginning of a long and fruitful career for him, especially if he smiles at everyone with the same cocky confidence he’s using now as he grins at Bobbi.

“Don’t go getting into trouble, Hunter,” someone says, walking into the room just a few steps behind. It takes Bobbi a moment to recognize Alphonso Mackenzie, their director, which is silly. Mackenzie is, in a word, huge. His brown skin, broad build, and bald head set him apart from the archetypical Hollywood director – pale as death, waiflike, with unkempt hair that supposedly shows their passion for their art but really shows their dispassion for hygiene.

(Needless to say, Bobbi’s not impressed with most Hollywood directors, and she’s beyond glad her first project is with Mackenzie.)

Mackenzie and Hunter appear to have some sort of history. Maybe that’s how Hunter got cast, Bobbi muses. A little nepotism can go a long, long way in an industry like this.

“Smiling at a beautiful dame isn’t getting into trouble, Mack,” Hunter protests.

Bobbi loses track of their argument entirely, because _she’s_ just walked into the room.

Melinda May.

She’s even more beautiful in person than she is on the silver screen, which had seemed impossible until just that moment. It isn’t fair that someone can be as beautiful as Melinda May while also having her talent and her poise. If Bobbi had lived Melinda May’s life the last few months, she would’ve absolutely _died_. But Melinda is standing in the doorway, a stubborn tilt to her chin that shows off the gorgeous line of her jaw. Bobbi swallows hard and rips her gaze away from her costar. It wouldn’t do to get a reputation for ogling other women, but Bobbi hadn’t realized it would be so difficult to keep her eyes off Melinda.

The other woman makes her way across the room, floating rather than walking. Her position is two seats down the table from Bobbi - Hunter will sit between them, if he ever stops flitting around Mackenzie puckishly.

“Good morning,” Bobbi greets, trying to keep her voice steady. She needs to be professional, and fawning over Melinda is decidedly not professional.

The other woman turns to survey Bobbi, her eyes flicking up and down before she gives Bobbi a single curt nod. Bobbi waits to see if the nod will be accompanied by anything else, but it appears that’s all she’s getting. Bobbi turns back to her script and tries not to be too disappointed. Melinda’s never been known for being flamboyant, but Bobbi had been hoping for a slightly warmer greeting.

It’s no matter now, though. Now that Melinda is here, the rehearsal can start post haste. The nerves bubbling in Bobbi’s stomach make themselves known again, but she breathes through it as the readthrough begins. She has too many people to impress to make a fool of herself now.

\---

“Yes, Mr. Radcliffe,” Bobbi sighs into the phone for what feels like the dozenth time. Her agent has been grilling her about the first read-through and she’s trying not to snap him. It’s only her first day and her first time meeting her costars; she’s not going to have networked with half of Hollywood or made a fool out of herself after only a few hours.

“Barbara, I can’t stress this enough. You _must_ get on Lance Hunter’s good side.”

 _Bobbi_ , she wants to say. _My name is Bobbi._ Instead, she says, “Yes, sir.” Why Holden is so insistent she cozy up with the Brit is none of her business, but Bobbi isn’t much interested. He seems nice enough, and she’d be pleased to be his friend, but her agent seems to be angling for them to be more than friends. Probably for the publicity, Bobbi guesses. Everyone likes a love story, and stars meeting and falling in love on a movie set certainly _sounds_ glamorous.

“Have you seen your trailer yet?” Holden asks. “Or met your assistant? I hear she’s very professional, very nice to work with.”

Bobbi is really beginning to reconsider this whole Hollywood thing. If even assistants can have reputations, what sort of place is it? She lets out a slow, deep breath before answering Holden. “No, I’m going there as soon as I’m done speaking to you.” If her agent hadn’t been so insistent on her calling him after her wardrobe fitting (where they had indeed had several things to say about her legs) she would’ve already been in her trailer, and would have met the elusive assistant, too. She also would’ve been able to spend more time with Melinda May, but she’s not going to say as much to Holden. That would renew the Lance Hunter-themed lectures, and she’s quite done with that subject for the day.

“I won’t keep you longer, then. Remember, sweetheart -” Bobbi doesn’t bother listening to the rest of his sentence. Anyone who calls her sweetheart doesn’t deserve her attention. The only reason Holden’s her agent in the first place is because he’s the only one who would take her; she has no fondness for the man except for as her first step in her career. Hopefully when she has a few movies under her belt, she can switch to someone who better suits her. Maybe Melinda May’s agent will take her on, Bobbi muses as she hangs up the phone. The studio assistant who had been waiting outside the door nods to her, and Bobbi nods back before being handed off to another page, who in turn leads her to her trailer.

The page leaves her with a smile, and Bobbi mounts the stairs to her trailer two at a time. She’s thankful to finally have some alone time before they do another readthrough. She swings the door open - and finds herself face-to-face with Melinda.

“Oh,” Bobbi says, resisting the urge to step back and send herself tumbling down the stairs. “I’m sorry, am I in the wrong place? Someone brought me here, I thought -”

“We’re sharing,” Melinda interrupts before Bobbi can tie herself into more knots. “Something about the budget.”

“Do the boys have to share a trailer?” Bobbi asks without thinking. Hunter, Mack, and the movie’s writer, Fitz, are all on set, and Bobbi swears she saw at least three other trailers outside.

“I don’t know.” Melinda arches an eyebrow, and Bobbi tries not to cower under the gaze.

“You’d better come in,” Melinda says eventually. “Daisy, can you find Jemma, please?”

Bobbi realizes with a touch of embarrassment she and Melinda aren’t alone in the trailer. A dark-haired woman - Daisy, she presumes - flashes her a smile before ducking into another room of the trailer. She reappears with another woman, who rushes over to Bobbi.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Morse. I’m your assistant, Jemma Simmons. I’ll be in charge of helping coordinate your schedule with the rest of the cast and crew as well as attending to any personal affairs you might need assistance with. I also can -”

Jemma’s diatribe cuts off when Daisy elbows her in the ribs, and the brunette woman gives Bobbi an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit excited to be here.”

“That makes two of us.” Bobbi smiles, relieved she’s not the only one who feels like bouncing off the walls. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Simmons.”

She shakes Jemma’s hand, and then Daisy’s, for good measure. The younger woman doesn’t say as such, but Bobbi assumes she’s Melinda’s assistant. There’s no other reason Melinda would accept her presence so readily. It seems likely to Bobbi they’ve worked together before, and she has to bite back a sigh. Hunter and Mackenzie know each other, Melinda knows Daisy, and she’s certain someone knows Fitz as well. She’s the odd one out.

“I’m sure we can make the best of this situation.” Bobbi says, giving a valiant effort at a smile. The trailer isn’t so big that she and Melinda will never cross paths, but she’s confident in her ability to give the other woman space, so long as they can negotiate the use of the space alright. “Where would you like?”

Melinda gestures over her shoulder to the third room of the trailer. Bobbi cranes her head and manages to make out a small bed and a vanity. She doubts there’s a second bed in the trailer, but she’s not willing to raise a fuss. She doesn’t want to get on Melinda’s bad side, especially since the other woman has spoken a grand total of a dozen words to Bobbi out of character.

“I’ll take the other room, then.” She smiles again, and her cheeks cramp thanks to how much she’s been forcing the expression in the last eight hours. Bobbi retreats to the room Jemma came from. It’s smaller than the main room, with only a small sofa, an armchair, and a coffee table. A book is balanced on the arm of the sofa, and Bobbi twists her neck to read the title.

“Gray’s Anatomy?” Bobbi turns to Jemma. “Is this yours?”

“Yes, sorry!” Jemma squeaks, scooping the book up. “I won’t be reading on the job, I promise!”

“It’s fine, Jemma.” Bobbi says. She doesn’t want Jemma jumping out of her skin for Bobbi’s sake. “I’ve never had an assistant before, and I really don’t think I need one, but…”

“But you have to have one to be taken seriously. It’s rather silly, isn’t it?”

Bobbi nods her agreement, sinking into the armchair with a forlorn sigh. She wants nothing more than for people to think well of her, but from what little she’s seen, it’s even more of an uphill battle than she anticipated.

She’ll just have to channel her inner Melinda May and keep fighting the fight, Bobbi decides. She’s come too far to give up just because of a shared trailer and a cool reception from one of her heroes. Tonight she’ll do well, and tomorrow she’ll do better; there’s nowhere to go but up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shooting begins, and a surprise visitor shakes up the status quo.

Melinda has been zipped into this dress an hour already, and at the speed the crew is moving on the set outside, it looks like it’s going to be another ten before they wrap this scene and call it a day. The electric fan in the corner of the trailer isn’t doing much to keep the trailer cool against the July sun outside, even if it is moving the air across their damp skin. Between camera rehearsal and now, the two of them spent a solid hour together in the hair-and-makeup trailer before coming back to their own trailer to get into costume. Melinda has left her heels by the door, not willing to endure them for a second longer than necessary, though she’d briefly reconsidered it when Barbara walked out from her room in costume, absolutely towering over her with three-inch heels adding to her already impressive height. A page had been sent to make sure they were dressed and had promised to fetch them when they were ready for them on set, but that was over an hour ago now.

 _Actors don’t really get paid to act,_ Melinda thinks to herself as she flips through an issue of _National Geographic_. _Actors get paid to wait._

Barbara has towed her chair out of her dressing room in order to be in the limited range of the fan, and she has had a book open on her lap since she sat down, though she’s yet to turn a page. She’s mindlessly twirling a pencil in her left hand, and she hasn’t sat still for longer than a minute yet.

“You keep fidgeting, you’re gonna wear a hole in that dress,” Melinda eventually comments without looking up from her magazine.

“Sorry,” the blonde says, though the fidgeting doesn’t quite stop. “I’m just nervous.”

Now Melinda looks up. “Whatever for? You did great in rehearsal.”

“I wasn’t wearing a dress in rehearsal,” Barbara says, barely able to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

 _It’s her first film,_ Melinda reminds herself, turning her head in the direction of her private room, where the two assistants have been chatting. “Daisy?”

Daisy appears almost instantly, with Jemma right behind her. “What’s up?”

“Can you go to the catering trailer and get us some lemonade with ice? Bring back enough for you all too.”

“Sure,” Daisy says, gesturing Jemma along with her. “Anything else?”

“That’s all for now,” Melinda says. “Thank you.”

Once the two women are gone, Melinda stands and goes into her back room, pulling the small flask that’s on hand for emergencies out of the bottom drawer of the vanity. She returns with the cap unscrewed and offers it to Barbara with a nudge on her elbow.

“Have a sip. It’ll help.”

The younger woman looks slightly alarmed at the sight of the flask. “I couldn’t—we might have to go on set any minute.”

“We’re not getting drunk, we’re just relaxing a little. You’re so wound up, I’m impressed you’re not levitating,” Melinda says, taking a small sip herself. “I promise you won’t forget your lines.”

“My agent wouldn’t approve,” Barbara says, though she does take the flask.

“Relax, he’s not here,” Melinda says with a roll of her eyes, carefully seating herself on the armchair again and picking up her magazine. Barbara still looks uncertain, but she takes a cautious sip before screwing the flask closed again and moving to bring it back to Melinda.

“Is this your own trick, or did someone recommend this to you on your first film set?” Barbara says as she resumes her seat.

“A co-star had the habit, and I picked it up. It’s never failed,” Melinda answers.

“I can’t imagine all the things you’ve learned from everyone you’ve worked with over the years.”

Melinda knows the younger woman is fishing for stories, but she doesn’t feel like talking right now and only shrugs in response. Barbara goes back to pretending to read, and Daisy and Jemma bang back into the room a few moments later bearing a tray with a covered pitcher of iced tea and a few short glasses.

“Sorry Melinda, they didn’t have any lemonade,” Daisy says, quickly setting the tray on the room’s short table and bending to pour everyone drinks.

“It’s fine,” Melinda answers, observing the way Jemma is currently watching Daisy somewhat dreamily rather than moving to serve Barbara. Melinda accepts the glass offered to her and immediately pours another shot from her flask into it. “Give this one to Barbara.”

Having seen her action, Barbara immediately shakes her head. “I already—”

“You’re a lot taller than me, I think you’re going to need another. Trust me.”

~

“So, how’s it going making friends and influencing people?” Phil says cheerfully when Melinda calls for their weekly check-in that evening.

“If you think I have been doing anything more than keeping my head down and trying not to start any drama...”

“I don’t believe that for one second. Surely you’ve hit it off at least with the director by now.”

“Mackenzie is friendly enough, but he also is exceptionally laid back for a director. Much more enjoyable to work with than the diva types.”

“Glad to hear that. See if you can’t get to know each other at least a little better before principal shooting ends. He could be a big help in landing your next film. Directors talk.”

“Don’t I know it,” Melinda mutters. “Jefferey Mace still won’t speak to me, and now his whole camp seems to have moved to that side of the line.”

“Like I said...” Phil answers. “How are the new kids doing?”

“Hunter is so energetic that it’s a bit tiring, but he’s tolerable. He does keep things on set interesting.”

“And the new girl? What’s her name? Barbara?”

“She’s nice. Impressive actress, not just a pretty face.” Barbara has aced every scene she’s done so far, and Melinda’s happy to see that. It’s clear the girl will have a future in this industry, and if that’s what she wants, then good for her.

“Well, good,” Phil says. “Hope sharing a trailer is going all right.”

“It’s a nice break from the sausage fest outside, that’s for sure. And no more crowded than the WASP barracks.”

“And she’s new, so I’m sure she appreciates a chance to get to know someone on her down time.”

Melinda guesses the number of words they’ve exchanged still only falls in the double digits, and she snorts.

“She hasn’t had the courage to talk to me much yet. Daisy has certainly bonded with her assistant already, though.”

Daisy, who has been busy peeling an apple at the small dining table on the far side of the room, shoots her a shameless smirk.

“We’ll see if the four of you can’t get out together one night. Or invite Bobbi and her assistant over for the off day, perhaps.”

Melinda remembers Bobbi mentioning that she was from Ohio and is ashamed to realize that she had not even made sure the girl had a place to stay in town. Her mother would be so ashamed of her right now...

“All right well there’s a delicious dinner calling my name from the next room,” Phil says then, “so I’ll let you go. Let me know if you hear any murmurs about future pictures and I’ll follow up for you.”

“Thanks Phil. Say hi to Roz for me.”

“Will do. Goodnight, Melinda.”

“Night.”

She drops the phone back in the cradle and turns toward the kitchen, where she hasn’t even started thinking about dinner yet.

“I got groceries this morning,” Daisy reminds her, as if reading her mind. “Go ahead and see if we’re missing anything...”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Melinda says without bothering to check the fridge. “Do you have the Brit’s number?”

“Why?” Daisy deflects obviously.

Melinda pulls the car keys from her bag on the counter and walks them over to Daisy.

“You should have a night out. Call her up and see if you can give her a tour of the Hills.”

Daisy looks stunned by the offer and takes the keys slowly. “Are you sure? I can take the bus...”

“You’re not taking your date on the bus when I have a perfectly good car.”

“Won’t you need it?” Daisy says, not bothering to correct the term “date”.

“If the world is ending and I need a quick escape, I’ll hop on my motorcycle,” Melinda says, patting Daisy’s shoulder. “Now call her up.”

Melinda looks through her cabinets and the fridge trying to get some ideas for supper while Daisy takes over the phone to call whatever residence Jemma is at. A few moments of quiet chatter pass as Melinda starts washing vegetables at the sink when Daisy suddenly raises her voice.

“She’s wondering if you would like to go with me—Bobbi is renting her extra room right now, so the four of us could all go somewhere together.”

“Who’s Bobby?” Melinda says, turning to look at Daisy, who has one hand over the receiver.

“Bobbi Morse? Your co-star? The gorgeous Amazon you share a trailer with?”

“Oh. When did she start going by that name?”

“You want to come or not?”

Melinda shakes her head. “I’m fine with a night in. It was a long day today.”

Daisy doesn’t look surprised as she raises the phone to her ear. “Just me and you, Jemma. I’ll see you soon!”

Daisy has her jacket and hat on within seconds of hanging up, and Melinda salutes her with the knife she’s wielding to cut vegetables.

“Have fun!” she calls as her assistant disappears. “Bring that car back in one piece!”

~

The next day, Melinda is on call for the morning block, while Barbara (Bobbi?) isn’t due until noon, so the trailer is rather quiet as Daisy helps her into the day’s dress—an evening gown with a skirt full enough to hide children in.

“You were out late,” Melinda says slyly as Daisy works on the row of buttons up the back of the dress. “Was it a good time?”

“So good. It’s probably good Jemma’s off for the morning, though…and that she wasn’t the one driving.”

“She seems like a sweet girl,” Melinda says. “How did she end up here from Britain?”

“She was a nurse during the war and had applied to medical school here right after V-E day, but when she showed up for her interview the school claimed it had already filled its available female spots for the year. She had a friend out here and came out to visit while she re-applied, and then she got hired for a temp job with the studio. She said she hadn’t expected to be an assistant, but money is money and it’s not a bad place to spend a few months.”

“And Barbara lives with her?”

“Barbara would rather be called Bobbi,” Daisy says smoothly. “Yeah, she’s from Ohio and didn’t know anyone here, so she was staying in a hotel at first, but then Jemma mentioned this to the house mother she lives with, and the woman insisted in Bobbi coming to rent the extra room—it’s too lonely to stay in a hotel for two months.”

“That’s sweet,” Melinda says, pulling on one elbow glove, rethinking it, and pulling it back off. _Not if I’m going to sit around for as long as I did yesterday…_

“The three of us went out in your car and I showed them the town, like you said. We went for dinner on the beach, and then we went to the Green Door for drinks after.

“That might have been a bit much…” Melinda says, turning to give Daisy a pointed look.

Daisy smiles a little smugly. “I don’t think Bobbi even knew—she’s a bit innocent, obviously. Jemma seemed to catch on after a bit but didn’t seem to mind.”

“Well, I suppose that’s good to hear.”

A sharp knock outside sends Daisy hustling past her for the door.

“Melinda? They’re ready for you!”

Sighing, Melinda picks up her gloves. _Better than sitting around all morning…_

An hour into shooting, Mackenzie calls for a break, and Melinda is relieved to peel the gloves off again before approaching the refreshment table for a drink. Hunter attempts to chat with her, but Melinda ignores him soundly enough until he scampers off to continue flirting with Mackenzie. A small commotion at the door makes her crane her neck, but she doesn’t have to do much craning, since Grant Ward is several inches taller than almost everyone in the room.

Melinda’s first thought is, _Seriously?_

Her second thought is, _Daisy._

Tossing down her cup and spinning on one heel, Melinda rushes for the side door and out onto the lot.

_Just make sure they don’t see each other—he shouldn’t even be here—he should be gone soon…_

She bursts into her trailer. “Daisy?”

There’s a startled sound from the back room, and Daisy appears a moment later, smoothing down her skirt.

“Yes?”

Her lipstick is smeared, and someone’s giggling in the space behind her.

“You’d better not be doing that on my bed.”

“Doing what?” Daisy says, and Melinda shakes her head.

“Sofa only. Got it?” Then, raising her voice. “Jemma?”

“Yes?” the girl calls from behind Daisy, though she doesn’t appear, making Melinda wonder just how indecent she is.

“Your job for the next three hours is to keep Daisy in here. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Daisy blushes but steps forward. “What’s going on, Mel?” she asks in a low voice.

The door behind Melinda suddenly bangs open again, and Barbara—Bobbi—stumbles in out of the sunlight, still dressed in her dayclothes and holding her left arm awkwardly across her body.

“Jemma?” she calls, all but ignoring Melinda as she ducks into her room. “Can you come help me?”

Daisy scurries back into Melinda’s room, and a moment later, the two young women appear, their hair mussed but both appropriately dressed.

“What can I do for you?” Jemma says, avoiding Melinda’s eyes as she hurries into the other room.

“I just busted my hand.”

Confused and concerned, Melinda follows Daisy into the room. Bobbi is seated in her chair and Jemma is looking carefully at her hand, cautiously extending its fingers.

“What happened?” Melinda says, leaning over to see. Bobbi’s knuckles are red, and one is split open, though it’s not bleeding badly.

“I punched Grant Ward in the face.”

A stunned silence swallows the room, and Daisy looks over at Melinda, alarmed. Melinda grabs instinctively for her hand, but she proceeds with the next obvious question.

“You…what? Why?”

Bobbi looks up at Daisy, and the dark-haired woman turns to Melinda.

“I told her everything last night.”

Melinda looks back and forth between all three women for a long moment, then drops Daisy’s hand and turns away. She leaves the room quickly, but then reappears with the flask from her vanity.

“Jemma, use this to clean out that cut if you don’t have any iodine. And then Bobbi, have a drink—you’ve sure as hell earned it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Green Door was an early LGBT-friendly bar of LA.


	4. Chapter 4

Bobbi never would’ve guessed punching a man would be the turning point in her relationship with Melinda May, but there’s a lot about the other woman that keeps her constantly off-balance. Daisy had privately confided Melinda hadn’t even known Bobbi’s _name_ – her real name, not the monstrosity her mother gave her – and that had made conversing with Melinda difficult, up until now. They’ve spent the past week since “the incident” (Mack’s way of delicately dancing around one of his stars punching someone) creating pleasant conversation about this, that, and the other. None of their conversations get much past surface-level details, but Bobbi knows that’s to be expected; Melinda’s too famous to go giving away secrets to anyone with a schoolgirl crush on her.

Beyond the crush, though, Bobbi is a bit desperate for companionship. Jemma and Daisy are lovely, but also together and very much involved in their own relationship. Of course, the pair didn’t seem to realize Bobbi knew their dates were dates – they think she’s a blushing virgin with no interest in women.

In any case, Bobbi’s relationship with Melinda has shifted seismically. Mack isn’t nearly so pleased with her about the incident as Melinda is, though it’s taken Bobbi some time to realize it. Melinda’s good at hiding her feelings, pleasure and displeasure both, and it’s only now Bobbi sees the little things that indicate Melinda’s pleased – the slight quirk at the edge of her mouth, the sparkle in her eyes, the occasional tilt of her head… it’s all fascinating.

Luckily for Bobbi, Mack likes her enough not to fire her over a little bit of assault. She’s not sure why the director had taken such a shining to her, but he somehow convinced every witness (all three of them) Ward had fallen and smashed his nose on the way down. Ward oughtn’t’ve been on set in the first place, since it wasn’t his movie and he had no business visiting anyone there, so all in all, Bobbi thinks he got off easy.

She gets off easy, too. She still has a job, and now Melinda’s more than willing to talk to her, with the right cajoling. She’s still a private person, but there are certain subjects, and certain questions, that will get her talking.

“Good morning,” Bobbi greets as she sweeps in through the door of the trailer, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. She hadn’t expected Melinda to be there yet, considering most of the morning is blocked out for a scene between her and Hunter.

“Morning,” Melinda answers, tipping her head forward. “How’s your hand?”

One of the subjects which easily gets Melinda talking? How awful Grant Ward is. Bobbi flexes the hand in question reflexively. There’s still an uncomfortable achiness in the tendons, but Jemma had insisted it wasn’t broken, so there’s no cause for concern. “Better than Ward’s face, I hope.”

The corners of Melinda’s lips turned up. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

“I didn’t do it for you. Or her,” Bobbi says, her cheeks heating under Melinda’s scrutiny.

“You punch random people for fun, then?”

“If they’re -” Bobbi stops herself before she says something unladylike and inappropriate for a professional environment. Radcliffe already would have a fit if he knew the half of what Bobbi’s doing, and she isn’t going to give him another item on his laundry list of complaints about her.

Melinda just nods again, apparently amused.

Bobbi runs through her memories, trying to recall if this was the first time Melinda had smiled at her. Becoming more friendly didn’t mean they were on smiling terms – yet.

“Is there a reason you’re so early?” Bobbi inquires in a tone she hoped was polite instead of nosy.

“I’ve tasked myself with keeping our assistants in line,” Melinda answers.

“In line, or off your furniture?”

Melinda’s eyebrows arch up. “I didn’t know you were aware of their…”

“Relationship? No, no one thinks I have eyes.” Bobbi rolls said eyes, and immediately regrets it. This is still the longest conversation she’s had with Melinda and she doesn’t want to discourage the interaction by being unnecessarily sassy.

“You’re from Ohio,” Melinda says crisply.

“Women exist in Ohio as well, surprisingly.”

That draws an actual laugh out of Melinda, and Bobbi’s stomach squirms uncomfortably.

“I should be getting off,” Bobbi says, even though she’s still obscenely early. Her nerves are suddenly far, far worse than they were a moment or two ago, and she thinks it has everything to do with Melinda’s laugh.

Besides, she needs more than a little alone time to brace herself for the scene she’s about to shoot.

\---

“Cut!” Mack yells through his bullhorn. “Take fifteen!” Bobbi steps back from Hunter, grateful for the reprieve from the endless filming. She’s kissed the man a dozen times in the past two hours and it’s rather exhausting. He isn’t a bad kisser, quite the opposite, but it’s awfully difficult to focus on doing the scene when her traitorous mind keeps offering images of other people she could kiss; other people who she would _enjoy_ kissing quite a bit more than she would enjoy kissing Hunter.

“Alright, love?” Hunter asks as Bobbi trips over her own feet trying to step further away. She’s wearing flats (Hunter’s an inch shorter than her and Mack isn’t looking to highlight their height difference at the moment) so she doesn’t even have a decent excuse to offer Hunter when he reaches a hand out to steady her.

“Just fine.” Bobbi gives him a tired smile, wiping a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead. “I’m going to look for some refreshments while we have a break.” The sound stage is uncomfortably warm with all the lights trained on them, and being in intimate proximity with another hot body isn’t helping Bobbi feel cooler – nor are the thoughts continuing to run through her head.

She returns to her trailer in hopes of finding Jemma, but instead finds Melinda sitting in the exact same spot she had been when Bobbi left hours earlier. She’s switched the book she’s reading, now peering at Jemma’s copy of _Gray’s Anatomy_.

Bobbi clears her throat to catch Melinda’s attention. “Do you know where Jemma is?”

May gestures with her head towards the small sitting room.

“Are they decent?”

“They’d better be.” A mischievous smirk flits across her face, and Bobbi files the expression way for later examination. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen that particular expression before, not even in any of Melinda’s movies.

Bobbi raps on the door anyways to announce her presence, waiting a moment before opening it.

Jemma and Daisy are a respectable distance apart on the couch, and don’t look the slightest bit disheveled. It appears they hadn’t been doing anything more than talking, so Bobbi supposes Melinda’s efforts to keep them apart have been successful.

“Jemma, would you mind horribly getting me a lemonade?” Bobbi isn’t going to be spiking her drink this time around, but lemonade is much more refreshing than plain water.

To Bobbi’s chagrin but not surprise, Daisy trails behind Jemma when her assistant exited the trailer. Bobbi’s a bit terrified to keep chatting up Melinda, worried that pushing their friendship to bloom too fast will put them back in their previous state of affairs –being little more than awkward coworkers.

Bobbi drifts back into the main room, settling on the seat near Melinda.

“How long are you here for?” Melinda asks, not unkindly.

“Probably ten more minutes, now,” Bobbi says. She knows someone will come fetch her when the break is over, but she’d rather not be engrossed in something; she always takes care to track time by herself.

“And how are you doing?” Melinda asks.

“With?”

“Kissing Hunter, of course,” Melinda answers, the same mischief from earlier dancing in her eyes.

Bobbi prepares for a comment about how annoying the man is – she doesn’t think it’s a secret May and Hunter aren’t bosom friends – but none comes. This feels like an odd sort of trap, but Bobbi can’t identify why or how. Melinda hasn’t taken much interest in Bobbi’s acting before, except for when she was required to by virtue of them being in a scene together. This is uncharted territory, like so much of their relationship is nowadays.

“He’s decent. I’d rather I didn’t have to kiss him twenty times, though.” There’s only one person Bobbi could imagine kissing that many times consecutively, and she’s pointedly not letting her mind wander, just as she’d been careful to discipline herself while actually in the scene. “I don’t suppose you’re about to offer me advice?” Bobbi asks wryly. Melinda hasn’t done any of that thus far, but perhaps one more change in their relationship wouldn’t be a bad thing.

“At least he’s not Grant Ward.”

Bobbi dips her head in agreement. That’s all Melinda had to say, though, which isn’t much help when it comes to Bobbi corralling her own stubborn feelings. She accepts the lemonade when Jemma brings it and sips it in silence, up until the moment one of the pages comes and requests her presence on the sound stage again.

Hunter’s already standing there, deep in conversation with Mack. The two of them are standing closer than Bobbi would imagine friends would, but she doesn’t comment, even when Hunter springs away guiltily at her arrival.

“Once more unto the breach,” Hunter quotes. Bobbi blinks at him – sometimes he’s so startlingly _British_ she doesn’t know how to respond. Maybe that’s on purpose, to distract her from the scene she’d just walked in on.

It’s easier once the cameras are rolling again and all her responses to him are laid out for her, a map which is embarrassingly easy to follow, especially considering how they had already been through the same song and dance before. Bobbi zigs where it’s necessary and zags where it’s not, right up until the moment of the fateful kiss.

Hunter leans in, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck as his lips find hers. He’s solid and oddly unassuming given his at times flamboyant personality. Just like every other time he’s kissed her, he doesn’t try anything funny – possibly because he’s seen exactly what Bobbi could do to men who crossed boundaries they shouldn’t have crossed. Even in that excruciatingly long moment, with his mouth on hers, Bobbi can’t muster anything resembling attraction to the man. She hopes it doesn’t come across in her acting, because the notion of having to repeat this scene _again_ due to her own poor performance makes her rather nauseous.

Even when the cameras stop rolling again and they’re set for what Mack promises was the final take, Bobbi couldn’t suppress the rolling in her stomach. It’s nothing like the uncomfortable twist in her stomach when she talked with Melinda; that was always warm and oddly soft, if discomfort could be such a thing. This feeling is harder, like a rock in her stomach, but cold. Bobbi doesn’t like it whatsoever.

Relief can’t begin to describe her feeling when Mack declares they’re done and Bobbi knows she won’t have to kiss Hunter again… that day, at least. There’s another kiss scene in the movie, one even more dramatic than that she had just been filming. Bobbi elects to ignore the sense of impending doom rolling over her, beating a hasty retreat to her trailer instead.

It’s ridiculous, that thirty minutes of kissing a man who’s objectively attractive should make her feel like this. Bobbi doesn’t understand it; she’s kissed men before, men she wouldn’t consider as pleasing to the eye, and it hadn’t felt this bad. The prospect of having to face Melinda when she’s in such a state isn’t appealing, but when Bobbi opens the door to their trailer, the other woman won’t even look at her.

They’re back to this, then; the careful, calculated professionalism. Bobbi had thought the warmth of the morning had been an indication of recent steps towards a different kind of relationship, but Melinda seems determined to prove otherwise.

It’s fine – she needs her solitude anyways. Bobbi pushes her way into her private room, wishing desperately the door had a lock. She doesn’t want to be bothered for a long, long while – or at least until her stomach settles.

Somehow, Bobbi doesn’t think settling will be possible with Melinda so close by.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda has dinner with the director and a day at the beach with the girls.

“Can we invite Bobbi and Jemma over this weekend?”

Daisy asks it while she and Melinda are on the way home from set on a Thursday afternoon, but she has to say it twice before the question registers in Melinda’s faraway thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Bobbi. Jemma. Can we invite them over? For dinner, or drinks, or lunch, or just…something?”

“The director invited me to dinner tomorrow night,” Melinda says, realizing she hadn’t told Daisy this yet. 

“Weekends happen to have two full days apart from Friday night,” Daisy says, her tone teasing but her eyes pleading.

Melinda doesn’t respond for a long minute, contemplating the possibility. She might have said yes a little easier a few days ago, when the memory of Bobbi punching Ward was fresher and the memory of her kissing Hunter was nonexistent. Now, Melinda falls back on what Phil would recommend rather than letting her emotions make the decision.

_ Make friends and influence people. Even—especially—the new ones. _

“Sure. We can talk about it tomorrow.  _ Tomorrow _ , Daisy,” Melinda repeats when Daisy bounces excitedly in her seat. “Don’t call Jemma tonight—let me be the one to open the discussion.”

“Okay!” Daisy agrees easily, satisfied enough with the promise of a girl time for the weekend. Melinda resists smiling to herself, but making Daisy happy usually does have the effect of making her happy too. She would offer to drop her off at the other woman's house tonight so that Daisy and Jemma could have some more off-the-books time together, but she doesn’t trust Daisy to keep good news to herself for more than three minutes, and Melinda doesn’t wants the weekend plans to run away without her input.

Daisy has plenty of ideas, of course, but the most popular one when the four of them discuss everything the next day in the trailer is a weekend out at the coast. Bobbi has a driver’s license but no car, Jemma doesn’t have a license or a car, and therefore neither one of them have seen the beach yet even after living in this part of the country for over a month already.

“Venice Beach, Venice Beach!” Daisy whispers eagerly in Melinda’s direction, and, like with most things, Melinda finds it impossible to disappoint her.

“All right, we can do Venice Beach,” Melinda concedes, enjoying the way everyone’s faces light up. “Daisy and I can pack a picnic—can the two of you bring some food and towels as well?”

Things in the trailer today have relaxed a little since the day before, when Melinda couldn’t help her sour feelings over watching Bobbi and Hunter shoot that damn scene again and again. All three of them are in a scene together today, and Melinda is enough of a professional that she can stuff her emotions for the sake of the job. Her costume today is also a bit more comfortable, so she hopes that will help her be a bit more pleasant as well.

This scene is set in a restaurant and has several of the minor cast members in it plus plenty of extras, so Melinda is able to fade to the periphery just fine between takes. Everyone, thankfully, seems prepared and engaged, so the action moves well, when it’s moving. Unfortunately, Mackenzie seems interested in trying out a few different ideas with their blocking and dialogue, and each alternative has to be shot at least five times…

By the time they break for lunch, Melinda is tired and ready to turn off mentally for a while. She passes off her lunch order to Daisy before heading to the trailer, but Bobbi has somehow beaten her there and is already trying to squirm out of her dress alone.

“Here,” Melinda says, walking right up to her and taking over the zipper Bobbi is struggling with. With a careful tug, the fabric parts invitingly to reveal the back of her black strapless bra and girdle, and Bobbi lets out a relieved sigh as she turns around with a grateful smile.

“Thank you. I was afraid to even take a sip of water—this dress is pointlessly tight.”

“At least you’re in flats,” Melinda says as Bobbi takes another deep breath, cradling the dress’s drooping bodice dress in her arms. “Need a partner to get it off and on a hanger?”

Bobbi glances away, her cheeks flushing slightly. “No, I can handle it.”

She starts to shuffle off towards her private room, but Melinda calls after her.

“Can you unzip me too?”

She turns around before Bobbi does, meaning she doesn’t get to see the look on the actress’s face as she approaches. Bobbi’s fingers are warm as she finds the tab at the base of Melinda’s neck and pulls it carefully down to its lowest point.

It sounds like she’s also suddenly holding her breath again.

“Thanks,” Melinda says, letting Bobbi off easy by shuffling off to her room without turning around.

When shooting wraps that evening, Melinda changes from her costume straight into her dress that she’d brought for dinner with Mackenzie that night. Bobbi is still lingering when Melinda finally walks out with her hair fixed and a little more jewelry on than usual.

“Wow, big evening plans?” the younger woman asks with an appreciative once-over that Melinda ignores as she sits to put on her shoes.

“Dinner with the director. Nothing too exciting.”  _ And judging by his behavior with Hunter these past few weeks, definitely not a date. _

“And that means I get her car for the night,” Daisy says, jingling the keys Melinda had passed off to her earlier, “so Bobbi, Jemma…drinks on me?”

“He’d better treat you well,” Bobbi says with what Melinda can tell is an attempt at a suggestive smile, but it doesn’t quite make it to her eyes, which look the tiniest bit concerned.

Melinda brushes her hand over Bobbi’s shoulder as she heads for the door. “I’m sure he’ll be the perfect gentleman. Daisy, don’t wreck my car.”

The heat of the afternoon has barely lessened as Melinda steps out into the magic-hour colors of a late summer evening, pleased to see Mackenzie already waiting for her across the way near Hunter’s trailer. He immediately moves in her direction, smiling as she approaches.

“You look lovely,” he says with a warm smile, offering his arm. Melinda takes it and follows him to his car, catching a glimpse of all three women watching from a trailer window as they pass beneath it, so she throws them a wink.

Dinner is almost effortless—Mackenzie is an easy conversation partner, and with any romantic interest in her off the table from the beginning, Melinda feels no pressure to “perform” while they enjoy each other’s company. He already has some interesting stories to share after his early rise to fame within the studio, and even more about how he got to Hollywood in the first place, but he also asks her plenty about herself.

Inevitably, her costars float up in the conversation, and Melinda is surprised when he asks her opinion of Bobbi as a costar, not just an actress.

“I know those can be two very different things,” he says in response to Melinda’s expression.

“She’s good. I think she worked herself up a little in the beginning—it being her first movie and all—so it’s nice to see her relaxing more these days.”

“And her decking Grant Ward didn’t hurt her chances, I assume?” Mackenzie says with a knowing gaze, and Melinda immediately rolls her eyes.

“Did anyone ever hear what excuse he made to turn up on your shoot?”

“Something about looking for one of the cameramen…” Mackenzie shakes his head. “Of course I don’t believe him—I’m sure he was just there to get his ego stroked.”

“Glad quite the opposite happened. Also glad it didn’t make it in the papers. Thank you, if that was your doing.”

Mack smiles but shakes his head. “As much as I would like the world to know about Ward’s public humiliation, I didn’t think Barbara would want that on her resume.”

Melinda goes quiet, but her lingering smile makes Mack continue.

“Would you be willing to work with her again?”

She glances up at him. “You have something in mind?”

“Only hypothetically,” Mackenzie says, leaning back in his chair. “But you all have a good rhythm. I like the way you work together. Just wondering if things are the same off-camera.”

Melinda shrugs. “I like her. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of her. It’s certainly nice to not be treated like a leper by my female co-star for a change.”

“What about Hunter?” Mack asks, his expression still carefully casual.

“Now, why ever are you asking  _ me _ that?” Melinda says with a pointed look.

Mack smiles and looks away shyly, so Melinda feels free to continue.

“Did you all just meet on this film?”

Mackenzie shakes his head. “We’d met once before, at a premiere. He and I have mutual friends.”

Melinda knows this code well.

“Is he a good friend?”

Mackenzie’s subtle smile is rapidly becoming shameless. “He certainly is.”

Melinda smiles herself as she takes the last bite of her dessert.

“Do you think you’ll work together again?”

At this, Mackenzie’s expression clouds over a bit. “We’ll see. There’s a chance he’ll say no.”

Surprised, Melinda bumps his foot gently with her own beneath the table. “I don’t really expect that.”

Their eyes meet over the table, and Melinda forces herself not to look away. She’s never been good at this—the soft parts of business relationships. But although every actor eats rejection for years in order to survive this business, for her, it’s barely gotten any easier to stomach. Especially when it’s a heart on the line.

“We’ll see how the rest of this shoot goes,” Mackenzie finally says, and she nods.

“Showmances don’t have to all end the same,” Melinda says quietly.

She doesn’t believe this, but they’re the words he needs to hear, and this script at least, she knows by heart.

~

Melinda and Daisy get up early the next morning to run by the shops, prepare and pack the picnic, and pack the car before heading out just to pick up the other women just before ten in the morning. Daisy, dressed today in a cotton dress and her biggest hat, directs her to a small neighborhood just outside of the city, and Jemma seems to have been waiting at the door, because she comes flying out before Melinda has even put the car in park. Daisy meets her in the driveway with a hug and then follows her back inside, gesturing to Melinda to follow, but she stays patiently behind the wheel until the three of them emerge with their arms full of bags, towels, and blankets.

“Bobbi, you should sit up front,” Daisy says after the three of them have loaded the rest of their things into the car. “You’ll have more leg room.”

She climbs into the backseat with Jemma before Bobbi can argue, and Melinda greets her nervous expression with a brief smile before cranking the engine back on.

Though the morning was sunny, clouds seem to be racing them to the coast as Melinda drives them past the city towards the sun’s destination. Because of the slightly-grim sky, the beaches appear less busy than usual for a weekend, and for that, Melinda is thankful. They find an area that looks both inviting and empty enough to not have many fans to cause trouble if she gets recognized, and the four of them leave their shoes in the car as they hoist bags onto their shoulders and blankets under their arms to troop down to the sand.

Daisy picks a spot, and she and Jemma start spreading out a blanket, dropping bags on the corners to weight it down. There’s a bit of a breeze off the water, so none of them hurry to take their dresses off, and Melinda keeps her glasses and hat on despite the cloud cover. Daisy immediately takes Jemma’s hand and pulls her towards the water, so Melinda makes herself comfortable on the blanket, letting Bobbi choose which place to join.

After a noticeable pause, Bobbi sits down on the blanket beside her.

Melinda hasn’t been to the beach herself in almost a year, so she spends the first few minutes simply re-memorizing everything about it. The thick smell of saltwater, the topography of the overcast sky, the screams of seabirds and shrieks of joyful children, the dynamic landscape of a relentless ocean…

“I’ve never actually seen the ocean,” Bobbi says quietly at her elbow, and Melinda finally turns to look at her. Bobbi has her legs folded up and her arms hanging loosely around her knees, battling with the breeze to keep her skirt from blowing up. “Ohio’s not the furthest you can get from a coast, but it’s pretty close.”

“Is it everything you dreamed of?” Melinda says, facing the crashing waves again.

She can hear a smile in Bobbi’s voice. “It’s amazing.”

Daisy and Jemma are walking in the surf, occasionally darting away from an overzealous wave, their grins visible even from a distance.

“They’re good together,” Bobbi observes, and Melinda smiles a little.

“They do seem to be getting on well.”

Of course, Bobbi doesn’t know the code yet, but she feels they understand each other.

“My agent is pushing me and Hunter together,” Bobbi says suddenly, digging her hand into the sand at her hip. “Says his agent is on board, and it would be good for us and for the film. No one asked me how I felt.”

_ Welcome to Hollywood, _ Melinda says internally. Externally, she sighs, lying back on the blanket.

“It won’t be the last time that happens to you, I’m afraid,” she says. Bobbi looks her direction, but Melinda keeps staring up at the clouds and swooping gulls. “You might have chosen to move here, you might have ‘chosen’ your agent, but that’s one of the last choices you’ll make, once contracts start piling up. Sign onto a film and you agree to weeks, sometimes months, with a cast and crew, followed by promotional events, and premieres, and then it’s time for the next film. Sign with a studio and you’re locked into years of work, which is what every actor wants, right? But what if everyone in the circle hates you? Or just barely tolerates you? And the people you date are either set up by the studio or industry outsiders who won’t get it and will run off eventually…”

She trails off, immediately regretting her monologue. Cheeks flaming, she sits up, unwilling to look at Bobbi as she pulls off her hat and glasses and climbs to her feet, deciding this might be a good time to go get in the water.

“So what do you do to stay sane?” Bobbi says, looking surprisingly stoic in the face of everything she’s just heard.

Melinda looks her in the eye, daring Bobbi to hold her gaze as she unbuttons her dress down to the waist and then pulls it off. Bobbi’s gaze sweeps briefly down her body before darting back up. At least she isn’t blushing this time.

Melinda smirks, adjusting the shoulder strap of her swimsuit. “You do whatever you want. But quietly.”

She turns away, marching towards the ocean and hoping the other woman will be brave enough to follow. She’s up to her waist in the chilly Pacific water when she hears a gasp of surprise and turns in time to see Bobbi react to her first ocean wave ever. Smiling, she stretches out her arm and catches the younger woman’s hand in hers, holding on tight and daring her into the deeper water.


	6. Chapter 6

The skin on Bobbi’s cheeks feels warm and tight, and it won’t surprise her if in the morning she has sunburn across her face and shoulders. The sun had started hiding behind an overcast sky, but an hour or so before sunset it had appeared. The sunset itself had been… spectacular. Or maybe it had been Melinda sitting next to her on the blanket the whole well that had been fantastic.

 _You do whatever you want. But quietly._ She keeps turning the words over in her head, wondering if she’s reading into them too much or just the right amount. Melinda doesn’t look at her when they tramp up from the beach to the hotel they’ll be staying in for the night, just asks the clerk for the keys to their rooms. Four women, four single bedrooms. At least one of them will be empty tonight, Bobbi knows. Jemma and Daisy have been staring at each other since the sunset, the romance of the moment obviously catching their attention.

The question is whether or not Bobbi’s room will be empty, too. She’s next to Melinda, just a few paces away.

Bobbi waits a breath too long outside her door, trying to figure out what’s appropriate to say or do. Melinda had said _quietly_ , but how quietly? She’s never done this before, and even though she’s an expert at innuendo and half-spoken words in most cases, she feels entirely out of her depth. As she steps into her hotel room, Bobbi wishes she’d thought earlier to ask Jemma and Daisy for more direction than what Melinda had offered. Of course, they’re also playing by a different rulebook, as assistants instead of the ones in the spotlight.

She takes a long, long shower, washing the sea salt and sand off her skin. The process of toweling herself dry and plaiting her hair back away from her face calms Bobbi’s racing heart marginally, but also gives her time to recognize what she’s about to do might be a mistake. She ducks into her pajamas, and before she can overthink _even more_ , she slides out of her room and takes the few steps to the next door.

Her soft knocking summons Melinda quickly, and Bobbi finds the other woman in a similar state as herself – hair still dripping wet, dressed in clothes meant for sleep. Melinda lets her in before she can even think of an excuse for her presence, and the door swings shut behind Bobbi with a resolute _click_.

“I –” Bobbi stops. It’s not often she finds herself speechless, but it is so much easier to talk to Melinda when there’s not the pressure of the other woman’s expectant gaze on her. Melinda’s eyes are dark and sharp and inviting in a way Bobbi can’t explain. Once Bobbi starts looking Melinda in the eyes, it’s only a brief flick of her gaze to the other woman’s lips, and…

She leans forward, neck curving at an awkward angle so she’s able to fit her mouth against Melinda’s. Bobbi’s stomach swoops and soars, and _this_ is exactly what she’d been imagining since the day she was forced to kiss Hunter over and over. Melinda doesn’t move away, and Bobbi’s confidence in her assessment of the situation grows. She steps closer to the other woman, one hand coming to cup at Melinda’s cheek while the other slides around Melinda’s waist.

A moment later, Melinda’s hands are braced on her shoulders. The shorter woman shifts her weight forward onto the balls of her feet, giving her an extra two inches of height so Bobbi’s neck doesn’t have to be at such an uncomfortable position. At the same time, she parts her lips, a silent invitation Bobbi accepts without thinking. Her tongue swipes through Melinda’s mouth, and she tastes of sea breeze and the vanilla ice cream they’d all gotten before the light had faded entirely. Bobbi’s exploration is slow and still slightly uncertain, but the second creeps into a minute, then two. Fire slides across Bobbi’s tongue, down her throat, and into her stomach, before settling lower. She doesn’t want to stop kissing Melinda, doesn’t want the fire to cool – if anything, Bobbi wants it to get hotter. She doesn’t mind going up into flames if Melinda is the one stoking them.

Their kissing stops abruptly when Melinda rocks her weight back onto her heels, pulling her mouth away from Bobbi’s along the way.

She grimaces apologetically when Bobbi pulls back, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Cramp,” she says.

“Oh.” Bobbi blinks, waiting for Melinda to say something else – not about the cramp, but about the situation they’re in. Suddenly the intimacy of having her hand on the other woman’s face feels crushing, and Bobbi slides it down to be with its twin on Melinda’s waist. She really is quite small; Bobbi’s hands together nearly span her waist, and standing together without Bobbi bending down or Melinda craning up, their height difference is stark.

“Are you alright?” Bobbi asks after a long pause.

“Are you?”

“I am.” If Melinda is surprised by the ease with which Bobbi answers, she doesn’t show it. She just nods, then uses Bobbi’s shoulders to lever herself up to kiss Bobbi’s mouth quickly.

“I was wondering if you would understand,” Melinda says. She steps back, tugs on Bobbi’s hands until Bobbi moves over to the bed. She sits and Melinda follows her. When they sit they’re almost eye-to-eye. Almost mouth-to-mouth.

“I understand more than any of you give me credit for,” Bobbi says. She only doesn’t bristle at the implication because she’s already realized the pattern. She doesn’t know as much about Hollywood as the others, but she’s _new_ and she can’t learn if no one gives her the opportunity to. Not knowing how being inclined towards the other sex works in Hollywood doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand, not at all.

“So I’m finding.” Melinda smiles the smile Bobbi’s come to associate with her being proud, but there’s something distinctly different from pride in her eyes.

“I just… don’t want to make a mistake,” Bobbi admits, her throat feeling extremely dry. She’s never been good at weakness, and being weak in front of Melinda is entirely different. In addition to being the person Bobbi’s helplessly attracted to, Melinda’s also Bobbi’s coworker and yes, still her idol. “This might complicate things,” Bobbi adds, hoping it doesn’t make her sound like a child or contradict the point she’s just made about understanding the world.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated.” Melinda puts her hand on Bobbi’s knee in a gesture of comfort, and Bobbi nods, more to herself than to Melinda. The fire in her stomach is spreading across her skin like an oil slick, everything catching all at once.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” she repeats. This, she assumes, is what it’s like in Hollywood. Do what you want, quietly and without strings attached. Whatever happens between her and Melinda will last no longer than the movie they’re in, the time they’re required to be together. Love is child’s play. Love isn’t allowed. Or at least, that’s what Bobbi assumes. She doesn’t want to ask and be faced with laughter at her further naivete.

Bobbi leans forward again, finding Melinda’s lips easily. This, at least, she knows she can do without making a fool of herself. She’s kissed enough people to know the mechanics of it, and the mechanics don’t change appreciably no matter who you’re kissing. The reaction, however, changes quite drastically; when Bobbi kisses Melinda she’s not imagining kissing anyone else, not the way she’d spent her entire day with Hunter imagining kissing Melinda.

They move from sitting side-by-side to Melinda perched in Bobbi’s lap, and Bobbi chuckles against Melinda’s mouth. For the first and perhaps only time, Melinda is taller than her. Her hair, still wet from her shower, hangs down in curtains around her shoulders, dripping water onto Bobbi’s skin and her nightdress. Occasional drops fall onto the bed, too, making the white sheets translucent in places.

Bobbi’s soon pressed with her back against those sheets. Melinda’s good at taking charge, which doesn’t surprise Bobbi in the slightest.

“Is this what you want?” Melinda asks as they reposition themselves so Bobbi’s head is on the pillows. She hopes her wet hair doesn’t soak the pillowcase and make it harder for Melinda to sleep later.

Five minutes later, the pillowcase is the last thing on Bobbi’s mind, because the fire inside her is finally burning her from the inside out.

\---

Bobbi’s awake long before the sunrise. The whole hotel is breathless and quiet in the dark, and Melinda’s equally quiet as she sleeps, body curved like a question mark on the mattress. Bobbi swallows hard against the feeling clawing its way up her throat. Last night had been everything she’d dreamed of and more, but the fire that had consumed her had left behind nothing but ashes. She feels hollow. It had been silly to expect there would be more between them than sex, but Bobbi had still nurtured that little hope right until the moment she had fallen asleep next to her with hardly a word.

Bobbi takes a shaky breath as she crawls out of bed. She doesn’t even really _love_ Melinda, she doesn’t think. But Bobbi has always dreamed of a future. It’s what brought her to Hollywood in the first place – she had dreamed of big things, bright things, some might even say dangerous things. So no, she does not love Melinda… but she could. Bobbi doesn’t like the future being decided for her, and this feels like… like being told there’s something she can’t have. Someone she can’t have, at least not fully.

She slips on her nightdress and exits Melinda’s room quietly. The hallways are entirely empty, seeing as the hour’s early, but even if they weren’t Bobbi would’ve been able to slip to the next door over with little fanfare. The relative safety of her own bedroom and its pristine bed did little to help Bobbi. She takes a drink of water from the bathroom sink to wash the bitter taste of disappointment from her mouth, stumbles over to her bed, and sinks into the welcome embrace of sleep with no warm body beside her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The women enjoy their last day at the beach. Bobbi gets to do something else for the first time.

Melinda wakes up alone the next morning.

Were it not for the absence of her nightgown and the slight ache in her body, she might have thought she’d dreamed the encounter. But Bobbi had apparently shown herself out sometime in the night, and Melinda is actually surprised.

_ She didn’t have to… but maybe it’s for the best… _

She dresses for the day and re-packs her overnight bag, leaving it in the room as she goes down to the first floor in search of breakfast. She is a little surprised to see Daisy and Jemma already down there, holding down a table with rosy cheeks and smiles that inform Melinda that they’re having as good of a weekend as she'd hoped they would. She joins them, orders her breakfast, and sips hot tea while they chatter, trying to decide if they should do some shopping on the boardwalk at the expense of their remaining beach time and whether it’s worth it to go home with wet swimsuits under their clothes.

Bobbi still hasn’t made an appearance by the time Melinda is done eating, so she orders another hot tea and carries it on its saucer back upstairs, knocking gently on Bobbi’s door.

The woman’s sunburn is the first thing Melinda notices when Bobbi opens the door. She’s also still in her nightgown and looks a little bleary-eyed, as if she’s just woken up.

“Good morning,” Melinda says with a smile, waiting as Bobbi rubs her eyes.

“What time is it?” the woman mumbles, her eyes going to the tea in Melinda’s hands.

“Almost nine. We were waiting for you at breakfast. Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Melinda offers her the cup and saucer, and Bobbi looks a little surprised as she reaches out to take it.

“ _ Are _ you all right?” Melinda repeats, and Bobbi nods.

“Thank you for the tea. I’ll get dressed and meet you downstairs soon.” Bobbi turns away and shuts the door soundly.

Melinda, slightly surprised, shrugs and turns away, heading back downstairs.

Bobbi doesn’t quite seem herself throughout the second round of breakfast, but she agrees that considering her sunburn, they should at least take the first part of the day to do a little shopping so that she can buy a better sunhat. She avoids Melinda’s eyes throughout the conversation, but when they go back up to their rooms to finish packing and check out, Melinda calls the woman over to her own door.

“Come in for a minute—we need to talk.”

Bobbi looks nervous as she turns towards Melinda once the door is closed, so Melinda remains a good distance away from her, leaning against the wall.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asks bluntly. She tries to hold Bobbi’s gaze, but the blonde is staring pointedly away. “Did you not enjoy yourself last night?”

Bobbi’s arms fold around herself protectively, and Melinda sees her bite her lip.

“I did. I just thought…” Bobbi seems to be battling herself internally, searching for the rest of the sentence, but in the end, she just sighs and lowers her gaze to the floor. “I’ve never done this before, Melinda.”

This at least is an easy thing to respond to.

“Well, I know we didn’t exactly do a lot of talking last night,” Melinda says, uncrossing her arms and propping one hand on her hip, “but what we did wasn’t a marriage covenant. If you realize now that it’s not really for you, we can pretend like it didn’t happen and just go back to being co-workers.”

Bobbi’s gaze finally lifts. “That’s not… No, I mean… I did enjoy it. A lot.” It looks like there’s more she wants to say, but after a beat of silence, Melinda spreads her hands in front of her.

“So what’s the problem? We don’t have to make this complicated. You’re an actress, this should be easy for you.”

Bobbi looks stung, her gaze snapping away again.

“So this is it, then? We can do what we want behind closed doors and whatever’s left is for the daylight?”

Melinda sighs, resting her hands on her hips again. “I’m not looking for a relationship, Bobbi. You heard me yesterday—this isn’t an industry of choices. Even if I met someone I wanted that with, it wouldn’t be something I can have. It’s simpler for things to just be like this.”

Bobbi closes her eyes briefly, shaking her head.

“So you just smile for the cameras, smile for your agent, smile for your studio, go to work and smile for the director…”

Melinda nods along and finishes the sentence. “...And after hours, do whatever you want. That’s the business we’re in. And if you don’t want it, then get out now, before you’re chained to a contract.”

Bobbi is quiet for a long moment, and Melinda sees her jaw tighten.

“I’m not used to living like that.”

“This is the acting industry. What did you expect?”

Bobbi sighs, unfolding her arms, a resolved look on her face as she turns towards the door.

“Just be patient with me, okay? Remember, I’m new here.”

Melinda reaches out and catches her hand as she passes, and instead of pulling away, Bobbi stops.

“Before you go, I need to hear you say it—do you want to not talk about this again and just go back to the way things were before?”

Bobbi looks down at her for a long moment, drawing breath to answer, but then instead she swoops down on Melinda and presses a kiss to her lips. Relieved, Melinda threads her fingers into Bobbi’s hair and kisses her back, holding her at a helpful height as Bobbi presses her against the wall. Her free hand finds Bobbi’s waist, then slips up to pull at the zipper down the back of her dress…

Bobbi’s mouth breaks away, her breath gusting in Melinda’s ear.

“Daisy and Jemma are waiting for us,” she whispers, flushing beneath her sunburn.

Melinda smiles up at her as she pulls the zipper down. “I don’t think they’ll mind waiting a few more minutes.”

~

The air feels clearer when Melinda leaves her room with Bobbi later, carrying out her bag while Bobbi goes to her room to fetch her own. Melinda waits in the hall, eventually going to rap on Daisy’s door, which she can hear the girls talking behind.

“Five-minute warning,” she calls, and Daisy cracks the door with a smirk.

“We’re ready whenever you two are.”

The sun is much brighter today, so Melinda puts the car’s top down as they load their bags back into the trunk. The boardwalk is busy enough with summer-weekend foot traffic that Melinda is wary of taking her sunglasses off, lest she be recognized, and she keeps to the back of the store while the other women shop. Bobbi seems more relaxed now, chatting amicably with Daisy and Jemma as they try on hats together, and Melinda smiles to herself while she flips through a book off a shelf and waits.

“Excuse me, Miss May?” a small voice at her elbow says, and Melinda looks down to find a young girl holding a scrap of paper. The child has gorgeous brown eyes practically sparkling with anticipation, and Melinda smiles automatically.

“Could I please have your autograph?” the girl, who looks like she might not be older than ten, asks politely, holding up the paper, and Melinda opens her purse to dig for a pen.

“I have one!” a second voice says breathlessly, and Melinda looks up to see the child’s mother, who appears almost equally excited, appearing from behind another shelf. Melinda chuckles and takes the proffered pen, sliding her sunglasses down her nose so she can look the child in the eye.

“What’s your name, darling?” she asks.

She’s almost done writing the short note when she catches Bobbi watching them with a glow in her eyes. Melinda catches her eye with a small smile too, signs the paper, and bends to offer it back to the girl.

“You should go ask for her autograph, too,” she whispers conspiratorially to both the girl and mother, gesturing to Bobbi with her eyes. “She and I are in a film that will be out this winter—she’ll be famous soon.”

The girl snatches the paper with a breathless ‘thank you’ and then scurries over to Bobbi, and Melinda turns away, glowing herself once she glimpses the disbelieving grin on the blonde’s face.

However it happens, it always feels nice to make her smile.

~

They leave the boardwalk with only a couple of hours left before they have to hit the road back to the Hills, so everyone agrees to a walk on the beach rather than a swim, followed by a late lunch on their way out of town. After setting a time to meet back at the car, Daisy and Jemma practically sprint ahead towards the surf, clearly savoring their last chance at any semblance of privacy, so Melinda doesn’t mind hanging back with Bobbi to give them space. The two of them make their way to the surf too and walk slowly along the sand, dodging children and sandcastles and the occasional overzealous wave, and Melinda’s hand only drifts towards Bobbi’s once before she forces it back to her side.

“How did that feel, signing your first autograph?” Melinda asks eventually, glancing over at Bobbi, who today is also well-shaded with her new hat.

“That was really something,” the blonde says, smiling to herself. “I know that was all you, though—she’s never heard of me, of course.”

“It still counts. She’ll get to tell all her friends she knew you before you were famous, and you get to start practicing your autograph.”

“Did you live here when you were her age?” Bobbi asks. “Did you grow up seeing stars around?”

Melinda shakes her head. “Not really. I grew up a few towns north of here. My father did crop-dusting for the farms, and that was how I learned to fly planes. I would sneak into the one movie theater in town sometimes and fawn over the stars in the marquees, but that was about it.”

“And were you aspiring to the big screen even back then?”

Melinda smirks to herself. “Yes. But only when my parents weren’t looking. What about you?”

Bobbi sighs, looking out over the ocean again as they walk. “I was never totally happy in a tiny Midwestern town. I always knew I’d go somewhere else as soon as I was old enough, but I was too young during the war to enlist in any of the civilian corps until the last year of it. Some girls from school and I started a community theater to raise money for the effort during those years though, and it might have been the most fun I’d ever had in my life. When my grandmother died last year and I got a monetary gift in her will, it kind of felt like a sign. She’d always been the one to encourage my acting most…I figured I owed it to her to take a shot at the biggest stage of all. So I bought a ticket and said a prayer.”

“Well, looks like it’s all working out,” Melinda says, catching her eye with a smile. “You’re going to have a lot of ‘firsts’ this year, but I don’t think any of them will also be ‘lasts’.”

Bobbi looks over at her, her gaze almost wistful, and something about this new expression makes Melinda’s breath stick in her chest a little.

“We’ll see,” Bobbi says, facing forward again. In the space between them, their hands bump each other, maybe on accident and maybe not. Like the waves and the shore beside them—colliding in passion only to pull solemnly away.


	8. Chapter 8

_Do what you want –_

_Do what you want –_

_Do what –_

Bobbi shakes her head, trying to keep Melinda’s voice from ringing in her ears quite so much. She’s been thinking about Melinda often. Endlessly, if she’s being honest. Ever since the night in the hotel, she’s gone back and forth and back and forth, trying to sort her feelings out. She _likes_ Melinda, likes her so much that just having casual sex might be killing her a little.

Matters are made worse by her being forced to go on a date tonight. _Strongly suggested_ were the words Mr. Radcliffe used, but Bobbi knows it’s not an option.

Hunter meets her at the restaurant, and when he smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Bobbi blinks, scrutinizing him. Apparently, this date isn’t optional for him either. It doesn’t make Bobbi feel any better – her stomach just sinks down into her toes. It’s one thing to have Melinda tell her how things work in this town, but another entirely to see her own misery reflected in someone else’s eyes, even if it’s well-hidden.

The table they’re taken to is tucked away, but not so far back they can’t be seen. Bobbi steadfastly ignores the street on the other side of the window, not wanting to see if anyone takes a picture of her and Hunter together.

“How are you?” Hunter asks quietly when they’re settled.

“I’m alright,” Bobbi says. She realizes belatedly how few conversations she’s actually had with her co-star; with the exception of talking about work, she hasn’t conversed much with Hunter at all. “And yourself?”

“Alright,” he answers, inclining his head towards her. “You might want to try to smile, love. Neither of our agents are going to be happy if we look miserable this whole time.”

Bobbi sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry.” It’s not Hunter’s fault she’d rather be virtually anywhere else. Memories of hot sand and crashing waves wiggle in without warning, and Bobbi’s eyes slip shut as she relives the brush of a hand against hers.

She’s pathetic, really.

“I can’t blame you.” Hunter smiles at her, but it’s a sad one. “They can make us kiss all they want, but they can never make us really love each other.”

“You’re not…?” Bobbi asks, just for confirmation of what she already knows.

“Attracted to you?” Hunter finishes. She nods. “I wouldn’t say _no_ , but…”

“But there’s someone else,” she surmises.

“You know him.”

Bobbi scrolls through a list of men she knows, and nearly hits herself when she realizes. “Mack.” All the times she’d caught them closer to each other than she’d otherwise expect – their proximity had never been accidental.

Hunter nods. “And you and May…?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to the ones who know what to look for,” Hunter says. This time when he smiles it’s realer, albeit smaller.

“We’re quite a pair,” Bobbi sighs.

“It’s not bad, you know.” Hunter leans back in his chair when the server comes, and Bobbi holds his gaze for the long moment while the waiter sets glasses of water in front of them and asks them what they’d like to eat.

“What I mean is, we can play pretend for the cameras. If we’re seen together enough, if we seem to love each other enough… we have a lot more leeway than we would otherwise.” He sounds suspiciously like Melinda, and Bobbi wonders if she’s spoken to him, or if this truly is the only way people like her – like them – can exist.

“Isn’t it exhausting?” Bobbi asks.

“I want to be with him.” Hunter’s voice cracks, and it’s obvious when he furrows his brow, he hadn’t expected it to happen. “I will do _anything_ to be with him.” He swallows. “And this isn’t the worst we could do.”

They haven’t spoken often, but Bobbi doesn’t mind Hunter’s company. In fact, she thinks she could find much joy in his presence, if they found topics to talk about rather than their respective romantic woes and how depressing it is to have to hide parts of themselves for public consumption. He’s right – Radcliffe could have pushed her together with someone truly distasteful.

“I wish we lived in a different world,” Bobbi admits softly. “And I feel naïve for wishing.”

“Not naïve.” Hunter reaches across the table, wrapping his hand around hers. His hand feels different than Melinda’s, rougher and with callouses prominent on his palm. “We could all use a little more hope, I think.” He pauses. “I think she could.”

Bobbi’s cheeks flame. “She doesn’t want… anything from me.”

Hunter laughs, the sound unexpected. “She obviously wants _something_ from you. But you want more than that from her?”

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” Bobbi sighs. “I think I’m getting all twisted in what I feel and what I want and what I can’t have. They keep overlapping and I can’t keep sense of it all.”

“Can’t say I’ve never been there before.” Hunter’s mouth turns down, the perfect picture of sympathy. “Unfortunately, none of it turned out well for me, so I can’t offer any advice.”

“I don’t need advice,” Bobbi says, and finds it’s true. She doesn’t need yet another person telling her what’s best. “But I would like someone to listen, if you’re up to the task.”

Hunter nods. “I’m all ears.”

The whole sordid story comes spilling out, from the first day to the night at the beach. It’s strange to be so frank with someone, even if Bobbi does have to speak in euphemisms half the time to keep their conversation appropriate for the public setting. When she finishes it all she slumps forward and begins fiddling with her fork, which she’d stuck upright in her pile of pasta when it arrived. Her stomach had protested the bite of pasta she’d try to force down her throat, but now with the weight of her feelings of her chest, she’s hoping it’ll be easier.

“I’m sorry,” Hunter says. He doesn’t reach for her hand again. “I won’t tell you what to do, because I know you don’t want to hear that, but… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Bobbi says. She doesn’t believe it, and neither does Hunter.

“Is it helpful if I say it’ll turn out the way it’s meant to?”

“Do you believe in fate?”

“I could be persuaded.” He flashes another smile, and it’s getting easier for her to smile back at him. As unattracted as she is to Hunter, he’s still… a good person, she supposes would be the phrasing. A better person than she’d expect.

“Persuaded by what?” she asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Sometimes,” Hunter says, stabbing another bite of his own food, “you get to see things work out _just_ the way they’re supposed to. Not always, but sometimes. And I think the more I see that happen, the more I believe fate might be real.”

Bobbi arches her eyebrows, ever the skeptic.

“Come on, love. Don’t you see a little magic in you ending up here and now?”

Bobbi catches her lip between her teeth, pondering a moment. “Magic, no. Fate, maybe. Hard work, definitely.”

“The hard work can account for the here, but not for the now,” Hunter says, gesturing with his fork. “And I think the _now_ is pretty important, all things considered.”

Bobbi lifts a shoulder in a shrug. She can’t argue with him – she doesn’t know why _now_ is when she got hired for a movie, of all times. Logic would say it’s luck, or maybe even Melinda May needing less famous people to play off of without distracting from her spotlight, but…

“Ah! You think I’m right!”

“Don’t get too cocky,” Bobbi warns. “I just think you could _possibly_ be right.”

“That’s practically the same thing.”

“It’s not!”

From there their conversation devolves into snarky quips and verbal sparring that leaves Bobbi feeling breathless in a different way than she has been lately. It’s nice to laugh, nice to have a friend outside the mess that is the storm of her feelings for Melinda.

The next morning when she wakes up to a call from Mr. Radcliffe, he’s pleased with her. There’s a photo of her and Hunter on the front page of a tabloid, both laughing and with not a trace of their previous conversation on their joyful faces.

\---

There’s no dread swirling around her when she appears on set later that day, and Bobbi thinks it’s a step forward. Getting everything about Melinda out into the air had been good for her, and she’s excited to see if it changes how she’s able to interact with the woman in question.

Bobbi opens the door to their trailer, humming under her breath, and is immediately met with two pairs of searching eyes.

“Good morning,” she says to Daisy and Jemma. They continue staring at her, and Bobbi meets their gazes stubbornly. “Yes?” she asks, since there’s obviously something they want to say.

Neither of them answers, and Bobbi blows out a breath, deciding not to pursue it further. If they have something they want to say, they can say it without making her poke and prod.

“Is Melinda in yet?” Bobbi asks, craning her neck to see if Melinda’s in her private space.

“She’s not due for another hour,” Daisy informs her. “I’m doing some tidying before she arrives.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then.” She ducks back into her own space, and immediately spots the source of the awkwardness: a copy of the same tabloid Mr. Radcliffe had been praising her for just an hour previous.

Apparently, Daisy and Jemma aren’t pleased with her. Bobbi takes a steeling breath, which precludes a realization – she doesn’t need to justify herself to them. If the practice of hiding behind the veil of heterosexuality is as widespread as Melinda and Hunter have led her to believe, then both her assistant and Melinda’s should know about it.

Bobbi becomes less sure of this realization when she has to face Melinda two hours later. They cross paths in their respective makeup chairs, and while Melinda’s eyes meet Bobbi’s, she doesn’t smile her customary closed-mouth smile, or do anything more to acknowledge Bobbi’s presence.

It’s _frustrating._ Just when she thinks she’s learned the rules of engagement, something seems to flip on her. Melinda insists it’s just sex, they can remain friends, but then, but then –

Bobbi manages to keep herself from pulling her hair out. She’s just being overly sensitive because of Daisy and Jemma’s reaction. Melinda is fine – she can’t smile because there’s someone working on her face, and she’s too polite and professional to willingly disturb someone else’s work. Bobbi forces herself to calm again. She and Melinda will talk when they’re not so busy with their work.

And if the time to talk never seems to materialize, despite the two of them sharing a space… that’s not Melinda’s fault. And if Melinda seems to flinch every time Hunter smiles at Bobbi, that’s not her fault, either. It’s just a trick of the light. Their inability to stay in the same room longer than a few minutes (with the exception of filming) is just bad timing, not intentional.

Melinda doesn’t feel anything for her – Bobbi needs to accept the truth, and move forward from there. She’ll make herself fine with whatever scraps she can get, and maybe while she’s waiting something better will come.

She calls a goodbye into the trailer when she steps out into the cool night air, and doesn’t allow herself to focus on all the chances she missed that day to talk to Melinda.

Sometimes, fate isn’t strong enough, she supposes. Sometimes missed chances are just that: missed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of shooting. Parting shots.

The film is done.

Two days past principal shooting’s scheduled end date, but it’s done. Melinda is sure there will be re-shoots—there almost always are—but not for at least a month, not until after the film is cut together.

The wrap party, scheduled for the Saturday following the last day of shooting, will be tomorrow night at one of the director’s favorite dinner clubs, and everyone will get to properly celebrate there. So packing up the trailer that she’s spent the past five weeks sharing with three other women feels a bit like the last day of school. An ending, but not really a goodbye.

Daisy has taken all of the costumes back to the wardrobe trailer and Melinda is in the middle of packing up her personal items from her private room when she hears Bobbi and Jemma come through the main door.

“I’m sure the lady of the house would be perfectly understanding and give you a reduced rate, or maybe agree to wait until after the premiere to collect on rent…” Jemma is in the middle of saying as they cross into Bobbi’s private room.

“That’s nice of you to say, and maybe she would, but it’s not the only reason…”

The door to Bobbi’s room shuts, and Melinda finishes her packing in perplexed silence. She and Bobbi had mostly returned to their prior status quo since their weekend at the beach over two weeks ago. Casual conversations, a little bit of flirting, and there was that one night that Melinda had taken all three women out to drinks and she and Bobbi had kissed briefly in the car when Daisy and Jemma got out to have their own goodbye in semi-privacy. She’s come to enjoy the woman’s company—she’ll be missing it soon, she’s sure. But business is business, and thankfully, no project lasts forever.

Still, if Bobbi and Jemma are discussing what Melinda suspects they are, their time together might be a little shorter than Melinda initially realized.

She’s carried her small suitcase out to the main room by the time Daisy returns from the wardrobe trailer.

“Got everything?” Daisy asks, nodding at her bag, and Melinda nods.

“You?”

“Almost. I want to say goodbye to Jemma.”

“You mean, ‘See you later,’” Melinda reminds her. “You’ll have my car tomorrow night—I know where it’s going.”

Daisy wrinkles her nose at Melinda, but she raps on Bobbi’s door anyway.

“Jem? I think we’re about to leave.”

Jemma flings the door open immediately and rushes into Daisy’s arms. Over the tops of their heads, Melinda makes brief eye contact with Bobbi. She can see that the woman is also busy packing up a small suitcase.

“See you tomorrow night,” Melinda calls, heading for the trailer door to give Daisy and Jemma a minute.

She lingers at the top of the steps for a moment in the dusky sun, then turns around and goes back inside.

“Bobbi,” she calls, edging past the tangle of limbs that is Daisy and Jemma and standing in the doorway to Bobbi’s room. “Would you like to come get ready for the party at my home tomorrow?”

~

The house that Melinda keeps in LA is more on-brand for a star than her place in the Santa Clara Valley by far. She’s not one for lavishness, but privacy she will pay through the nose for. Her house is a fairly modest two-story place on a large property that does not come cheaply in a city growing as fast as LA. She doesn’t have stables, or a pool, or even that nice of a garden, but she does have a large parlor and a couple of guest rooms. Rooms that have gone unused for far too long.

Bobbi has a garment bag and overnight case with her when Daisy drops her off the following afternoon. Jemma switches to the front seat as Bobbi gets out, and Melinda waves goodbye to her and Daisy as they pull off down the long driveway towards the main road.

“I can’t believe properties this big exist so close to the city,” Bobbi remarks as Melinda leads her inside. “How many acres is this?”

“Just three. If you think that’s anything impressive though, you should see the old Pickford home. They’re absolutely shameless.”

Melinda leads her through the entry-foyer and up the stairs, down the hall to her master bedroom. Her room features large French doors out to a larger balcony that sits over the garage, a place that Melinda likes to spend time on in the cool mornings—it’s the highest she can get without flying a plane.

“You can hang your dress in here,” she says, going to her large closet and opening the door for Bobbi. “Do you want to bathe before you get ready?”

“I don’t think so,” Bobbi says as she hangs her garment bag amongst Melinda’s wardrobe. “I’ve been inside most of the day.”

“What have you been busy with?” Melinda asks, quirking a brow as Bobbi steps back.

“Packing,” the blonde answers, avoiding her eyes as she sets her overnight case on the floor.

“When are you leaving?” Melinda asks casually, ignoring the dull stab in her chest. “And where—”

“I'm leaving tomorrow. Back to Ohio, at least until the premiere,” Bobbi says, turning away and rubbing her arm self-consciously. “I don’t have another job lined up, and I can’t afford to stay in Hollywood until the royalties for the film come in…”

“You could stay here,” Melinda blurts out, regretting her shamelessness immediately but not backing down from the offer. “I have space. I don’t even stay here most of the time if I’m not working—you could have the place to yourself.”

“Where do you hibernate?” Bobbi asks instead of responding to the offer, finally turning her gaze on Melinda.

“I have another place up in the Valley,” Melinda answers, forgetting for a moment that she guards that secret with her life. “It’s where my plane is, it’s away from the drama…”

“You have a plane?”

Bobbi looks genuinely surprised, causing Melinda to smile. Turning towards her dresser, she picks up a framed photo—herself on the wing of her plane just a year before the war.

“A Stearman. Bought it with my first big check from the studio.”

“Well that explains the WASPs,” Bobbi muses, studying the photo with an impressed smile on her face.

“You couldn’t even apply if you didn’t already know how to fly. Most of the women there were farm girls like me—got their practice dusting crops or running supplies to small towns..”

“And what else did you learn in the WASPs?” Bobbi asks innocently, handing the picture back to Melinda, who sets it back on her dresser with a smirk.

“How much time do you need to get ready?” she asks, closing the distance between her and Bobbi and slipping her arms around the woman’s waist.

“Not long,” Bobbi promises before leaning down to kiss her.

~

“You never answered my question,” Melinda observes over an hour later as they stand at opposite ends of the room, now with tucked into dressing gowns and using two different mirrors to fix their hair and apply their makeup.

“Hm?” Bobbi mutters, focusing hard on her eyeliner.

“Would you like to stay here? Instead of going back to Ohio?”

Bobbi does not acknowledge the question for a long moment, but eventually she finishes her eye makeup and sets the pencil down with a sigh.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. What will the papers say if all they see is me coming and going from your place?”

“I can put out a statement, if that's what you’re worried about,” Melinda offers. “And anyway, it’s not like the studio would care. They tend to act like women couldn’t possibly be anything other than friends or rivals.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Bobbi says, though she doesn’t elaborate.

The two of them finish their makeup in silence, and Melinda eventually stands to slip on her dress.

“Can you zip me up?” she asks, facing away from Bobbi.

She hears the woman moving across the room and eventually feels gentle hands on her hips. Bobbi’s hands linger there for a moment, but then they finally move, businesslike, to the zipper.

Melinda thanks her as Bobbi moves away, trying to convince herself that she is not actually as disappointed as she feels.

~

The party is nice—good food, good music, minimal photographers. Melinda smiles for the cameras and poses with the expected combinations of people, and then she’s free to dance and drink to her heart’s content. There are toasts from the director, writer, producer, studio execs, and then as usual, the microphone is offered to the stars. Hunter gamely takes the first turn when she waves off the offer, but after his toast, he practically hauls her onto the stage for the next one.

“Well, there’s not much I can really add to that,” Melinda says with a smile as she takes her place at the microphone, though in truth she was barely listening to Hunter’s speech. She’d been more focused on Bobbi, standing across the room but still several inches above everyone—did she look at him the same way tonight as she did in that photo all over the newspapers?

“I’m so grateful to have had the chance to work with all of you,” Melinda says, finding Mackenzie’s face in the front row. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity and not being ashamed to be seen with me in public.”

This draws a half-tense laugh from the room, and Melinda smiles, finding Bobbi now and focusing on her as she raises her glass.

“I wish all of you the best—may all your wildest dreams come true. This city is, after all a magical place.”

“Here, here!” the room answers, raising glasses. Bobbi’s eyes meet hers as she raises her glass, and even from the stage, Melinda can see that her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

They arrived in a limousine together, but when Melinda is finally ready to go, she can’t find Bobbi.

“She called a taxi,” the maître d’ informs her when Melinda goes out to ask. “Asked me to give you this.”

The woman holds out a small note, and Melinda turns away to unfold it.

 _Hang onto my other dress until I get back,_ it reads in neat cursive. _See you at the premiere. -Bobbi_

_~_

Three quiet September weeks later, Melinda wakes up in her Valley home to her phone ringing.

“This better be important,” she grumbles into the receiver, rubbing her eyes.

“Well, we have a standing appointment to speak on Tuesday at noon, so I’d consider this important,” Phil’s voice says from the other side, and Melinda rolls over to peer at her alarm clock.

_Noon?_

“Did I wake you?” Phil asks, sounding concerned. “Are you feeling all right? You don’t usually sleep so late.”

“Just, nowhere to be,” Melinda sighs. “What’s happening in the Hills?”

She half-listens as Phil recounts the highlights of the past week from her agency and the studio, slowly waking as he talks.

“Re-shoots are scheduled for next week, but Mackenzie they won’t be calling you back. Just some of the other cast.”

“Morse?” Melinda asks, suddenly waking up a lot faster.

“And Hunter, yeah,” Phil says. “Shouldn’t be for more than a few days. The premiere is still set for November 2.”

Melinda’s hand slips beneath her pillow and tangles in the cotton dress that’s been living there for weeks.

“When are the actors due back to town?”


	10. Chapter 10

When Melinda’s not at any of the reshoots, Bobbi doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Going back to Ohio had been difficult, almost suffocating, and she’d spent too many sleepless nights staring at the ceiling of her bedroom and wondering if she’d done everything wrong. Hunter had flown out once at the behest of his agent, and they’d allowed themselves to be seen walking around her hometown shoulder-to-shoulder, as if there were any paparazzi in Ohio to take their pictures. He’d asked a few probing questions, all of which seemed designed to hit her sore spots, but eventually given up.

It was a good thing he had, because Bobbi still didn’t have any answers. Leaving the party without saying goodbye to Mel had been purposeful, because Bobbi honestly didn’t know how she’d say no if Melinda asked her to stay again.

Seeing Melinda feels inevitable now that she’s back in Los Angeles, especially with the impending premiere date, but Bobbi has half a hope she’ll be able to put it off when she learns Mel isn’t doing any reshoots.

That hope is quickly squashed when she walks out of her trailer for the evening and finds herself face-to-face with the other woman.

“I didn’t see your name on the reshoot schedule,” Bobbi says, because every other coherent thought evaporates at the sight of smooth black hair and impossibly deep brown eyes.

“I have something of yours,” Melinda answers steadily. It’s a forced steadiness, though, the kind Bobbi hears in her own voice when she’s trying not to let any emotion slip through.

“Right.” Bobbi’s throat tightens. She’d left the dress behind more on accident than purpose, but now… it feels purposeful. Maybe her subconscious had been working harder than she’d allowed herself to believe. It’s an excuse to see Melinda again – check – but it’s also an excuse to see her house again. To be alone together again.

“Come home with me,” Mel says, and it sounds almost like a _plea_. Bobbi knows better than to believe it, though – Mel pleas for no person, least of all Bobbi.

“Fine,” Bobbi agrees, if only because her hotel room isn’t appealing at the moment. It reminds her of Mel.

Everything reminds her of Mel these days.

They drive back to Melinda’s house together with the windows down, the last heat of the summer more than enough to keep them warm despite the breeze. They don’t talk over the roaring wind, and both of them seem to prefer it that way.

When they step through the door of the house, Melinda doesn’t pause. She leads Bobbi upstairs, and into the bedroom Bobbi knows is hers. She doesn’t ask why her dress is in Melinda’s bedroom, isn’t sure she wants to know the answer.

“I washed it for you,” Melinda says when she gestures to the dress laid out neatly on top of the bedspread.

“Why didn’t you just bring it with you?” She thinks it’s a fair question—if all this is about is exchanging the dress, Mel could’ve brought it to set. But as much as this seems to be about more than just the dress, Mel hasn’t done anything to suggest they have a history. There hasn’t been any playful flirting, any stolen kisses. It’s like a handful of weeks have erased everything.

“Because I wanted to talk to you.” Mel hands Bobbi the dress, and she begins folding it on autopilot, the soft fabric slipping between her fingers.

“We can talk there, too.”

“Not like I want to talk,” Mel whispers.

The tightness in Bobbi’s throat only gets worse, until she can barely breathe.

She knows the kiss is coming, feels the shift in the air like a stormfront, but it doesn’t stop Bobbi from being breathless in an entirely different way when Mel’s lips press against hers. It’s so easy to get swept away in her, in _this_ , but she can’t get swept away this time.

“This isn’t talking,” Bobbi says, taking a purposeful step back.

“No, it’s not.” Melinda laughs breathlessly and humorlessly. “But I do think we should.”

“About?”

“I think I was wrong.” Melinda clears her throat, then takes a step backwards so she can sit on the edge of the bed. There’s an unspoken invitation for Bobbi to join her, but she doesn’t—just stands in the middle of the room, clutching the dress like it can save her from whatever Mel has to say.

“About?” Bobbi repeats, feeling like a broken record.

“I don’t know, exactly.” Mel raises her gaze to meet Bobbi, and she recoils at the utter confusion she sees there. Bobbi is supposed to be the uncertain one, bumbling through every interaction between them. Mel knows what to do, Mel knows the rules.

“I’ve been thinking a lot since you left,” Mel says. “About us.” She pauses, gathering her thoughts, and Bobbi squashes the hope daring to flutter in her chest.

Slowly, Bobbi shuffles until she can perch on the edge of Melinda’s bed, still a few feet apart from her so they don’t do anything stupid.

“I’m not right when you’re not here,” she whispers. “The sky isn’t as blue with you gone.”

“But there’s still a sky,” Bobbi answers, just as quietly. When she’s gone, Mel’s world keeps turning. She keeps flying her plane and living her life and caring about the blueness of the sky. Bobbi is just a footnote, an explanation for why something seems off. It’s the way it has to be for them, but it still hurts. Bobbi doesn’t allow herself to consider her Ohio sunsets, which hadn’t seemed as bright as she remembered. She had chalked it up to nostalgia clouding her memory, but maybe…

“That’s not… you left.” Mel’s voice sounds… oddly closely to breaking.

“I didn’t know what I wanted anymore,” Bobbi admits. “I – I don’t know if I can keep going the way we were, Mel. But you’re right… I shouldn’t have left without telling you.” Ducking out without saying goodbye to Mel had been a coward’s move.

“I’m trying to say you don’t have to!” Melinda blurts out. The words feel like a knife through the heart, and Bobbi wonders why Mel has to do this to her – make everything more painful than it has to be. She knows why things are the way they are.

“But the rules -”

“Were made by ignorant people who are afraid of the world changing,” Mel finishes. “We don’t have to follow them if you don’t want to.”

Bobbi stares.

“I want the sky to be blue again.” Melinda moves towards Bobbi slowly, like Bobbi’s a frightened animal that’s about to run.

“I don’t want you to be with me just for the _sky_.” But she still doesn’t move away.

“I think you know what I mean.”

And Bobbi does – she’s just afraid to believe it.

“So if we don’t do it the old way… what do we do?” 

“Whatever we want.” Melinda reaches for her hands and Bobbi sets the dress down so she can take them. Melinda’s hands are smaller than she remembered, and Bobbi wonders how many other memories even their short time apart has blurred.

“Can I ask you a question before I decide?”

Melinda squeezes Bobbi’s hands softly. “Of course.”

“Do you love me?” It’s been plaguing her mind for far too long – if what they have is friendship with benefits or something more. The conversation leads Bobbi to err more towards _something more_ , but she and Mel have already failed to communicate about what this is once, and she refuses to do it again. She wants the heartache to stop before it starts.

The walls begin to close in as the silence stretches longer and longer, and just when Bobbi is about to lose her patience, Mel speaks.

“I think I do.”

Maybe it’s not the perfect admission, but it’s close enough. Love is hard to define, even harder to capture, and harder still to understand. With things being the way they are between the two of them, it’s hard for there not to be uncertainties. But Mel seems certain enough she wants to try, and… and it’s enough.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Melinda’s eyes are bright and teasing, and all at once they’re good again. It’s not the end of their conversation about the way things will be, but it’s the end of the hardest part – deciding to make the change. Their relationship’s been difficult from the start, and Bobbi refuses to begrudge herself this moment of happiness just because there’s more work ahead.

“If you want to know you should ask,” Bobbi bites her lip, watches Mel’s eyes darken at the movement. She knows what Melinda’s thinking, knows her answer to the question. She just wants it to be asked.

Instead Mel kisses her, which isn’t expected but also isn’t unwelcome. Her mouth is soft and supple and Bobbi’s pleased to say of all the memories that have gone fuzzy, kissing Mel isn’t one of them. Probably because she replayed those kisses on endless loop when she was in Ohio, but that’s not important.

“So, do you love me?” Mel rests their foreheads together, and Bobbi savors the intimacy of the gesture, the easiness of it. If she had known all she needed to do was suggest they could make their own rules, she would’ve done it a long time ago. Then again, Mel probably wasn’t ready then.

She’s ready now, though.

“I do.” Bobbi presses their lips together in another kiss, soft as silk and just as smooth. “I love you,” she adds, because the words are important to say as more than just a yes or no answer. They’re important to say and she’s _allowed_ to say them, as strange and new as the change is.

“Good.” Mel smiles.

“Good,” Bobbi echoes. This time the quiet doesn’t feel suffocating; it’s comfortable.

“Do you need to get back to your hotel?”

Bobbi snorts. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Mel had invited her to stay when they were on the precipice between friends and lovers and something different entirely, and Bobbi had the notion the invitation would likely stand now that their relationship was more certain. “In fact, I’m not sure I ever intend to leave this bedroom.”

“You have to work tomorrow,” Mel protests, but she quiets quickly when Bobbi’s hands begin a slow ascent up her legs.

“I’ll be at work on time. But not a moment before.” Bobbi grins.

(The next morning, she’s precisely one minute late. Sue her.)

\---

“Have you read the paper, dear?” Bobbi asks as she sips at her morning coffee. Sunlight slants through the open window of Mel’s kitchen, spilling over the table and the newspaper spread across it. The movie premiere isn’t quite front-page material, but there’s a decent spread on page three about it and how radiant Mel had looked.

Bobbi’s doesn’t disagree with the radiance, of course – whoever had suggested Melinda wear a silver dress deserved everything the world had to offer them. Bobbi had so enjoyed taking it off, though it had taken them longer to get back to Mel’s hibernation home than she liked.

“Are they talking?” Mel hums, handing Bobbi an orange to go along with her bowl of cereal and coffee.

“No, they’re not.” Together they’d braced for whatever negative attention might’ve come their way from their daringness at the premiere— _they had held hands, in public, in front of cameras!_ —but there’s none. Or if there is any, it’s not in the Examiner.

“Easier for us, then.” Melinda doesn’t seem fussed, which means Bobbi probably doesn’t need to be, either. “Are you ready to go?”

Bobbi swallows another gulp of coffee to fortify herself. She doesn’t have a fear of heights (needles are her worst fear, not that anyone needs to know it) but there’s something about flying in Mel’s plane that makes her stomach shimmy. It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling, though, so she nods. They make quick work of their breakfast and scour the Examiner one last time for any other mention of their stunt, but Louella Parsons, resident Melinda May expert, had been the only one to weigh in on the premiere.

They fill the walk to the airfield with effortless banter about the premiere, their friends, and the future. Bobbi has another job lined up, and so does Mel. Not working together will be strange, they agree, but at least they’ll be able to come home to each other.

“Ready?” Melinda asks one last time, swinging into the cockpit.

Bobbi tightens her seatbelt as she looks back at her and smiles. “As I’ll ever be.”

They take off into a sky that is cloudless, endless blue.


End file.
